Anyday But Yesterday
by Lady Irish Rose
Summary: RENTxBtVS Roger had not seen his younger sister for over three years since she disappeared one cold November night. Now, she's returned to New York and they'll soon learn her looks are not the only things that have changed. HIATUS
1. New York State of Mind

Hello and welcome to yet another whim of Captain Insomnia. I am now officially what is known as a "RENTHEAD", and damn proud of it. If I had the money and the transportation, you bet your ass I would have seen the original story on Broadway. As such, I had to make do with the fantastic movie that is now invading all of my creativity at the moment. Since my first love in fanfiction is the wonderful world of Joss Whedon—Buffy the Vampire Slayer in particular—I've found it difficult to create a story without some intimate connection to the magnificent show. Hence the reason four out of my five stories are all somehow linked to the show. And now I have yet another to add to the quota...

**!IMPORTANT: **Now, you may have skipped the gratuitous intro above, but I strongly advise you read this part, for it contains critical information about the story.

**First**: RENT is officially AU, but not in such an outrageous way you can just forget what happened in the movie. The date of the events in RENT have been moved to current times so that the end of RENT occurred during Xmas of 2005. It is now early spring of 2006 (right about now in the real world—Northern Hemisphere, anyway), which means the story starts up three months after RENT.  
**Second: **If there is extensive information about the individual histories of the bohemians before they lived in Alphabet City, I don't know them and I'm changing them. You can safely assume their pasts are AU, Roger's in particular. The entire premise of the story requires it to be AU anyway.  
**Third**: Angel has been part of the family longer in this story than in the original. He's been with them for years in this one, and, of course, he's been with Collins. It'll switch back and forth to what gender people see him as, just like in the original story. Although I did not resurrect him. Sorry! I was tempted to, but I decided against it to add to the angst.  
**Fourth: **Buffy the Vampire Slayer is running on original time, with the whole battle with the First and destruction of Sunnydale happening in May of 2003, so now we're set at nearly three years afterwards.

I think that's about it. If there's anything I've missed, just ask.

**Disclaimer: **Oh, yeah, I forgot about this retarded thing. I own nobody and nothing of the original plots, characters, elements, songs, etc… Everything original from RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson and everything original from BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon. There.I think this story has been thoroughly disclaimed.

* * *

**Chapter One: New York State of Mind**

_I'm definitely in my New York state of mind now, Billy, _Regan Davis mused to herself. She cracked open the window of her rental car to breathe in deeply the smell of her birth city, of the massive playground of her youth. The thriving arena of people, cars, and spectacular skyscrapers that drew millions upon millions of eager tourists drove her blood into a euphoric thrumming through her veins. Her sharp ears picked up the multitude of languages being spoken in the span of a few blocks, and she smiled in delight. After having been away for so long, she had forgotten how much she loved the sounds of the Big Apple. Even the gritty smell delighted her olfactory senses in the same manner the most disgusting food can taste delicious when one has gone without food for so long.

After watching a man scream at another man and then finally flip him off, Regan sighed deeply in content.

_It's so good to finally be home. _

After serving at the hellmouth base in South America where she had practically perfected her Spanish, she had made the decision to relocate to a non-hellmouth base. Sprawling urban centers such as New York City, Los Angeles, Paris, and Tokyo (among others) weren't situated on hellmouths. But their high populations and impressive sizes presented invaluable hunting opportunities to the supernatural predators of the night. It was quite easy to hide their exploits behind the high crime rates that already produced high body counts. It was the perfect cover—the International Organization of Watchers and Slayers even coined the term "urban disguise" to describe it.

However, with roughly three thousand Slayers walking the globe and about a third as many trained and on active duty, even the "urban disguises" were not going to give vampires safe haven any longer. Already, the statistics were showing reduced death rates in these large cities, leaving quite a few national officials somewhat flummoxed. Of course, it didn't solve the problems of the high rate of crime and growing problem of gang warfare. But then solving problems that dealt strictly with humans was not part of the Slayer's job description. The tangled realm of human affairs was _usually_ far more complex than a vampire sucking some poor fool's blood any day. Which was why Regan was quite glad she and her comrades were advised to steer clear of them.

She pulled into the parking lot of the main building where she was to report before setting up her living quarters. The organization had a cover name known as _The Summer Aurora Foundation_, a quirky pseudo-name of the sister of Buffy Summers, one of the organization chiefs and the commander of the Slayers. Dawn Summers was currently studying at Oxford University in the UK, though she was already an official Watcher in the Organization. The foundation had reached international acclaim in the past year for its generous donations to many causes, though it seemed to have no clear purpose beyond that. Most people just wrote it off as some billionaire's secret outlet of generosity.

The Watchers Council—the organization that governed the legacy of the Slayer before it was blown up a few years ago—had a bank account (or, rather, several bank accounts in several different names) that survived even if the Council didn't. Its wealth was unimaginable, having been accrued from several sources over thousands of years. The Council's influence stretched out far and wide, farther than even the Senior Watcher, Rupert Giles, had predicted. It made Bill Gates's coffers look downright meager in comparison.

Regan pushed open the door to the lobby, knowing full well there were powerful protection wards monitoring the premises inside and out. If she had been some sort of demonic imposter one of three things might have occurred: she would have been frozen in place, ejected off the premises, or a silent alarm would have gone off. She would have found herself at sword point in the space of about thirty seconds or less.

The wards were fashioned to act as what Willow Rosenberg, the Wiccan who constructed them, euphemistically referred to as "Empath Wards". They were sensitive to the underlying intentions of all who stepped foot on the grounds. They didn't read minds, but they were able to discern between a hostile objective and a benevolent one. Even one of demon blood that had no obvious signs of dishonorable intentions warranted closer monitoring. Security was among the top priorities of the Organization. They took absolutely no chances, and with damn good reason in Regan's opinion. There was no place for political correctness in the supernatural world.

The walls of the lobby were colored in creamy off-white tones with elegant Greco-Roman style borders. There were even a few Greek-style statues languishing in small alcoves on the right and left sides of the lobby. Tables with stacks of reading material flanked comfortable armchairs and sofas. In order to give the full effect of a normal business lobby, there were landscape portraits and exotic plants set all over the area. The intercom was playing the typical elevator/business lobby music, enhancing the atmosphere of professional tranquility. There was even a beautiful bubbling fountain in the middle of the room. It was all so terribly ironic to Regan. The base she had been stationed in Argentina had not been nearly as quaint as this one. Of course, the Santa Rosa base had been on a hellmouth _and_ it had not been in a city as large and well known as New York City. Appearances could go a long way, so the Organization was careful to put on the right ones.

Set between two elevators at the rear of the lobby was a desk. A man was sitting there, his attention completely riveted to his computer screen. She could hear the clicking of the keyboard keys as his fingers flew over them rapidly. Regan approached the desk quietly and rapped her knuckles on the smooth surface. She must have startled the man for he jolted and gasped sharply. He glowered at Regan for a few moments before regaining his professional composure.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

Regan quirked an eyebrow at his rude demeanor. If she wasn't almost positive his job had to be rather mundane and that they didn't get many people walking through that door, she would have been rather annoyed by his attitude. As it were, she skipped any pleasantries with the deskman—she felt like a traitor to her sex for subscribing to the gender stereotype, but she had trouble referring to him as a receptionist.

"I'm Regan Davis from Santa Rosa, Argentina. I requested to relocate here and I was told to report here first thing," she informed him.

The man's gray eyes widened in realization before his cheeks reddened in embarrassment for his earlier behavior. His eyes flitted to the assortment of necklaces on her neck and the rings on her fingers. There were quite a few dog tags hanging on her neck in addition to what appeared to be a guitar pick and a Celtic cross. One of the dog tags, however, was stamped with the crest of the Organization (a stake crossed with a sword). No doubt her base location and the name of her particular squad along with her rank within the squad were engraved on the back. The information only had meaning to those that were part of the Organization or aware of its existence. Anyone else would probably just think it an odd novelty item.

"Um, okay…Miss Davis. I'll…em…just pull up your file and then let the commander know you've arrived. I didn't think you were coming until tomorrow. At least, that's what I was told. If I had known—" he stammered nervously.

Regan waved her hand in a flippant manner. "Eh, caught an early flight. And it's fine. Far be it from me to tell someone who works in a customer service job to act cordial to customers."

The man laughed nervously, wiping his forehead, which was becoming noticeably damp. Regan smirked at the reaction she was inciting from him. Sometimes, one just has to enjoy the fact that she can make others uneasy.

He cleared his throat and turned to his computer. "Um, well, how old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty. I was born on January 29, 1986 right here in New York," she told him, with a definite note of pride in her voice.

He gave a small smile at that remark. "Me too. I mean, the born in New York part."

When he had her file on the screen, he frowned, looking somewhat troubled. She waited a moment to see if perhaps he had made a mistake, but when his expression did not dissipate, she became a little worried.

"Is something wrong?" she queried.

"Um, well, Miss Davis, it says here Santa Rosa is on a hellmouth and that you were the captain of the…_Raptor_ Squad?" He glanced at her to confirm he was correct on the name.

She pretended to take offense. "Hey, the name means _bird of prey_, so, when you think about it, it's completely appropriate. Besides, it beats our second choice: the Llama Squad."

The deskman nodded slowly, although it looked like he was completely missing the joke. He quickly reverted his gaze back to the computer to read further. "You fought in Sunnydale, too?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Um, what exactly are you tiptoeing around to say to me? I mean, you're obviously confused about something or you're just trying to make sure I am who I say I am. In which case, the latter is kind of moot since I was able to walk through those doors unscathed."

He immediately shook his head. "No, no, I'm not questioning your validity. It's just…well…a top-ranking Slayer with your experience and training usually doesn't relocate from a hellmouth base to a non-hellmouth base. Usually they relocate from one hellmouth to another hellmouth."

So that was what was perplexing him. Regan finally understood now and she realized she should have expected such a reaction. Out of the thirty-six Slayers (not including Buffy and Faith) that had gone underneath the surface of Sunnydale, California to fight the First Evil's Turok-Han army, only twenty came back out. Three of those twenty died of severe internal injuries and blood loss not long afterwards. Regan had been among the several of critically injured Slayers and, by all rights, should have died. Luck had been smiling on her, though. She was able to make a quick and full recovery.

The seventeen Slayers who had survived were dispersed all over the world, usually given command of hellmouth bases. To serve on a hellmouth base, one either had to be one of those seventeen or demonstrate a great deal of skill and courage. With the numbers of Slayers in training growing, a minimum amount of training and experience on a non-hellmouth base werejustrecently added to the credentials. Hellmouth bases presented a lot more dangers than non-hellmouth bases; the Organization wanted to ensure only the best of the best served on those bases.

And, of course, there was the _unwritten_ credential that a Slayer who wanted to fight on a hellmouth should possess. The way Regan put it, a girl needed to have the stomach for it. Not all Slayers did. Although it was rare, a few Slayers requested reassignment to a non-hellmouth base only after a few weeks of serving on a hellmouth. It was, in the simplest terms, too brutal for them to handle.

Back in the day when it was just one Slayer at a time, she would have been given no choice. Buffy was determined to make things different now that she had changed the rules, and that meant implementing fundamental changes in a Slayer's lifestyle. Namely, it meant giving her back the power to control her own life. Buffy vowed never to make a Slayer fight if she didn't want to, and she sure as hell would not make those that agreed to fight serve somewhere they didn't want to be.

Regan sighed as she tried to think of a way to answer his unasked question. It was true her decision had risen more than a few eyebrows in the upper levels of the Organization. She had had no trouble in Santa Rosa, or any other hellmouth she had dropped in on. She was a highly skilled, deadly warrior who had all the right characteristics to serve on a hellmouth. Moreover, she had displayed no dissatisfaction with her placement. She had seemed to be generally happy with where she was, and, honestly, she _had_ been happy with where she had been stationed.

She leaned forward over the desk, almost contorting her body into a perpendicular position. "Look, my reasons are personal. They have nothing to do with any technical problems or shit like that. When I feel like letting you in on them, I'll tell you," she replied evenly. Her voice was not intentionally unkind, only very firm, which kind of tipped it in that direction.

The deskman silently nodded in understanding. Regan rocked back on her heels when she confirmed that they had reached a consensus to not speak anymore about it. While he finished typing up whatever it was he needed to type up, Regan's gaze meandered about the room, admiring the cheerful décor while still marveling at the irony of it all. Anyone who walked in here, if they didn't know any better, would think this was just a normal office building. It was kind of hard to wrap her mind around that fact.

She heard the deskman—she really ought to have asked his name—pick up a phone and tell whoever was on the other end that she had arrived. The minutes passed by with not a word spoken between the two of them. Regan continued scrutinizing her surroundings while not moving from her spot while the still nameless deskman plucked away at his keyboard again. With the way he was completely relaxed and was again immersed in work (unless he was hacking or trying to find good porn, for she couldn't see the screen), one would think he totally forgot she was standing there. The silence was interrupted by the elevator doors to the left of the desk sliding apart.

It was a short blonde girl who looked no older than fifteen or sixteen years of age. She was dressed in a bright pink training suit with the words _Baby Girl _printed over the shirt. Regan made a wild guess that those same words were probably printed right on her ass, too. Her face was round and carried the youthful, baby-faced prettiness of what Regan traditionally called "bubblegum-pop girls".

Though she was not one to let prejudice jump to the forefront of her attitude, she could not help but recoil from being around the girl. It didn't help the girl's case any that she was smiling incessantly in that psychopathic, manic way—or, at least it seemed so to Regan.

"Oh, hi! You must be Regan! Such a weird name. My name's Annabelle, but you can call me Belle. It means 'beautiful'," she greeted in the as-predicted loud voice dripping with happiness one usually only finds if a person's serotonin levels are off the charts. Or if that person is on drugs.

_Okay, Regan, now you're being cynical._

"Um, it's not _Reeegan_, the 'e' is pronounced as an 'a'. _Raaaayyyygan_." It always ticked her off a bit when people mispronounced her name.

Belle screwed up her pixie face into a look of dismayed confusion. "Like that dead guy on television a couple months ago?"

Regan quirked a brow and briefly exchanged an odd glance with the deskman. _Please, god, don't tell me she's a Slayer._ "You mean President Reagan?"

Belle's face brightened. "Yeah! Okay, so, _Raygan_, I get to take you on a tour of the building. The base commander is a little tied up at the moment, new trainees and everything. I finished my training six months ago." Her smile widened into a grin of self-satisfaction.

Regan forced herself to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. She was relatively new on the scene and was now confronted with an older, more experienced Slayer. Maybe Belle was still in the adjustment period of being a teenage girl with superpowers. It had taken Regan quite a well herself to get used to these supernatural abilities of the Slayer. She had once been in the same boat as Belle, so it wouldn't reflect very well on her if she acted unkindly towards the child.

With this in mind, she smiled as sincerely as she could manage and said to Belle, "Good for you."

* * *

The New York City base owned an apartment building right across from the headquarters where the Slayers and Watchers called home. The apartments were very modern and almost affluent in their style, with up to three bedrooms and two full bathrooms. The room and board was free for Slayers, Watchers, and family members. She took a two-bedroom with only one full bathroom and one half-bathroom. She had contemplated getting one with an extra room just to use as storage, but eventually decided against it. She wasn't a packrat, so there wouldn't be much to store in there. 

Regan dumped all her luggage on the living room floor before surveying the place that was to be her new home. The living room was a nice, medium size, with a lovely fireplace. The kitchen was actually quite large, with a breakfast island stationed in the middle and a fascinating twirling pantry shelf called a Lazy Susan. She spent a few moments entertaining herself with it before moving on to the dining area.

Luckily, the place was already furnished with the basic living amenities. It saved her the trouble of having to drag that stuff all the way up to the top floor, though it would be no problem for a Slayer. All she cared about was being saved from a major hassle.

The bedrooms were as large as expected, with the master bedroom staffed with a queen-size bed and the other with a two twin-sized beds, cedar-wood dressers, desks, night tables, and walk-in closets. She sat on the queen-size bed, testing it out for a few minutes before jumping up to complete her examination. Being inside her own apartment in the city of her childhood felt very surreal to her. Four years ago, she never would have imagined she would have had the means to live in a place like this on her own. She never would have imagined a lot of things for herself that had happened.

Regan had lived with another Slayer in Santa Rosa in an apartment almost as nice as this one. It was just the fact that she was back where it had all begun, where the tangled web of ups and downs that had been her life had begun. Where she had come from and where she was now were almost at opposite ends of the scale. When she really stopped to think about it, it brought to mind the real reason she had come back.

For three years she had avoided her past like the plague. This city held so many fond memories, but it also held some of the worst memories she harbored. Her last months in this city brought tears to her eyes when she thought about it. She could still feel the cold in her bones at times. She could still remember the fear in her dreams, the uncertainty of what was going to happen next. She recalled what it had been like to live day to day in dogged pursuit of survival, of committing degrading deeds just to put a little bit of food into her starved system.

_I was so stubborn. I was so stubborn it almost killed me. If it hadn't been for Mr. Giles, would I be dead by now? _She often asked herself that question, but had yet to come up with an answer. Maybe she didn't really want to know. She wanted to put it all behind her and focus on her new life, on her second chance. The life she had lived before going to Sunnydale and becoming a Slayer was almost like a past life. Almost. She had come back to reconcile with a few aspects of her former life. So it was quite clear she hadn't quite cut off all the ties that bound her to it.

Unconsciously, Regan rubbed the ring on her left thumb. The ring was actually meant for a finger, but her hands were always rather small, even for a girl. The old piece of jewelry had only fit her thumb. It was old when she had received it; the minute floral designs had already been worn down. It was probably worth nothing, but she had never tested the possibility. She would sooner sell her own soul to the devil himself than sell this ring.

Breathing in deeply, Regan reached out to touch the telephone. Her hand froze on contact as her nerves began to take hold. She finally hushed up her faltering reserve and picked the phone up off its cradle. She dialed the familiar number almost mechanically, wavering over the desire to hope to hear the voice she had not heard for three years or hoping they had moved elsewhere. As sad as it sounded, she was leaning more towards desiring the latter.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four rings.

_Maybe I've got the wrong number. He probably did move. They all did. I hope they did. _

Five rings.

_This is crazy. I should do this in person. No, I should call first._

"_Hello?" _

Regan's entire body froze upon hearing that voice. She drew in a sharp breath, unable to release it for some reason. She had not heard the voice for so long, but she would have recognized it anywhere.

_Roger. _

"_Hello?"_

She opened her mouth to say something, to tell him that she had come back and that, contrary to what he might believe, she was not dead, she was not some enslaved crack whore doomed to a life worse than death. She wanted so badly to tell him right then and there that she was sorry…that she didn't hate him. Alas, her courage had failed her; she could barely eke out her own breaths much less any lucid words.

"_Hello? Is anyone there?"_

She hung up. She then cursed under her breath and fell back on the bed, closing her eyes and letting her thudding heart return to normal speed. Over and over she scolded herself for being such so craven in this matter when she had faced off Turok-Hans when she was only seventeen. How could something like this seem to be so much more overwhelming, so much more frightening?

Regan sighed and said aloud in a sardonic voice, "That went well."

* * *

So, there you have it. Chapter Uno, and what do you think of the title? Isn't it the sweetest coincidence that Adam Pascal sings that song? Not to insult the great Billy Joel, but I think the sexy Mr. Pascal does a better job with the song. Of course, I might be biased on that one. 

Love it, hate it: it's your prerogative. Flamers will only be used to entertain, as they tend to be nothing more than rants that look like they were written by a three-year-old embroiled in a pissy temper tantrum. If you do have any grievances, you may go ahead and say them at your leisure, but odds are nothing will be done. This is my story, my rules. I already have a good chunk planned out, and I don't make a habit of changing things just to please a disgruntled reader.If you have a problem with the way something is going, go write your own the way you want it to be.

This does not mean I won't take _suggestions_. (Hell, I might ask for some from time to time) I had a few readers on some of the other storieswho seemed to think they could have some things done their way...and it kind of pissed me off.

Minor grammar, spelling, and punctuation mistakes will be made just like every other story on this site. So, don't go whining about a semicolon being where a comma should have been. It's nitpicking and it gets on my nerves. I've tried to present it as close to, well, perfect, as possible.

**Coming Up Next: **_Cannot Forget This Regret_


	2. Cannot Forget This Regret

Many thanks to my pioneer reviewers. I would normally wait to accumulate more, but I figured I should get in a little Roger/Mimi time. Again, I reiterate my decision on taking a great deal of creative license on Roger's past. Remember, this is AU!

* * *

**Chapter Two**  
**Cannot Forget This Regret**

Roger Davis frowned when he heard the click on the other end of the line, signifying that the mysterious (and supposedly mute) caller had hung up. He stood there for a while merely holding the phone in his hand before ultimately shrugging and hanging up. Perhaps it had just been a wrong number…or one of his drunken friends had accidentally dialed his number. He could remember quite a few "drunken Maureen" calls not long after she and Mark had broken up.

"Who's on the phone, babe?"

Roger turned to meet the gaze of his girlfriend, Mimi Marquez, as she waltzed into the loft carrying a box. The box looked crumpled and dilapidated, with what looked to be old reels sticking out of the top. He wondered where she had managed to find that stuff amidst all the rest of the junk he and his roommate had allowed to pile up over the years.

Since it was almost springtime, Mimi had suddenly been inspired to clean and rearrange everything. Roger had figured it was all due to the rehab program and her newfound outlook on life. She struggled through withdrawal by acting out in obsessive-compulsive tendencies, most of which could be quite amusing. Her energies and attention were being completely refocused, and for some reason she had picked out being a "neat-freak".

She had just started perusing through all of his old junk, calling him and Mark insufferable "packrats". For his part, Roger couldn't believe they _had_ actually accumulated so many things with the small amount of cash they had possessed over the years. They certainly had been forced to sell a number of things to buy food and his AZT.

"Don't know. Whoever it was, they hung up…didn't even say anything. Guess they got the wrong number," he said dismissively. He sauntered over to the sofa and sat down beside Mimi, who was currently routing through the box.

"You do know Mark won't let you throw those away," he pointed out.

Mimi rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's remark. "Wasn't going to. I thought it would be fun to watch them. Some of these go back a few years before I even came here."

Roger's heart skipped a beat as he remembered how different things had been only a few years ago. His eyes flew to the box, seeing it in a completely different light now. He had half a mind to rip it from Mimi's grasp and stash it away back to whatever cramped corner she had dug it up from. There were still quite a few things about himself that he had yet to tell his girlfriend. They had both entered into this almost accidental relationship with heavy baggage. Mimi had practically laid out all her baggage at his feet, thinking Roger had done the same. He had, after all, told her about April—the girlfriend he had still been mourning over when he met Mimi. However, April had not been the only girl in his life before Mimi came along.

"Regan? Who's Regan?" Mimi asked. She was holding an old, dusty film reel. (Mark had never been able to afford modern camcorders; he had bought the vintage reel one at a flea market.) A yellowed peeling label was stuck on the reel with the words "Regan's Sweet Sixteen" written on there in large black ink.

Once she saw the reaction her question had engendered, she automatically regretted asking. She laid the reel back in the box and pushed the thing aside, putting an arm around her distraught lover. Roger looked away, laying a hand on his forehead and running his fingers through his hair. He reached over and picked up the reel, brushing off the thick layer of dust that had amounted. The two of them sat there in complete silence, Roger within his own melancholy pensive mood and Mimi burning with questions but too afraid at the moment to ask them.

Was Regan another old girlfriend of his that had either dumped him or died on him? But, if the label was correct, the girl was only sixteen a few years ago, which was how old she judged the reels to be. She knew Mark and Roger had been living together for at least that long. Roger would not have had a girlfriend that young. At least, she would hope he wouldn't.

"Roger…Baby, are you okay?" she asked hesitantly.

He sucked in a ragged breath, squeezing the reel tightly in his grasp before flinging it back in the box and abruptly rising from his seat. He walked towards the window, leaning his head against it and fighting the urge to let tears spill on his cheeks. Seeing that reel had opened up so many memories he had long ago locked away. Hearing her name spoken aloud after all this time had been even worse. Ghostly voices flitted through his mind, voices filled with righteous anger, sorrow, and fear.

_Of all the things in my life I wish I could undo…that night is one of the top ones. _

Roger could never forget the terrible things he had done that night to the person he had loved most. His mother had charged him on her deathbed with the responsibility of taking care of his sister, and he had so utterly and completely failed. It appeared his life was just a long series of failures, one trundling in the footsteps of another. How could he have strayed so far? How could he have done such a thing to his beloved sister? He could not blame her for running away. He certainly couldn't blame her for never forgiving him or never wanting to return…if she still lived.

"Roger?" he heard his girlfriend say tentatively. She was slowly approaching him with an expression of deep concern etched into her beautiful face.

He let her wrap her arms around him. He rested his head against her crown of dark brown hair, breathing in her sweet floral scented shampoo. Mimi's presence alone was uplifting to Roger, enabling him to take a firm grasp of his wayward emotions and channel them back under his realm of control. For a long while, the two lovers just stood there in each other's embrace. Mimi was deeply troubled by her boyfriend's behavior, but she had learned in the few months she had been living with him that he needed to work through his feelings first before trying to talk about it. This girl Regan had struck a chord within Roger, a chord that probably had not been struck for quite a while.

_Damn it, Mimi, this spring-cleaning shit was a bad idea. Maybe you should have started with Maureen and Joanne's place._

Before long, they ended up back on the sofa with Roger's head nestled in Mimi's lap and Mimi stroking his sandy blonde locks lovingly. She was humming their song softly, the same song he had serenaded her with when right before she died—though her death had lasted only thirty seconds. The significance of their song went beyond that of other love songs couples shared. It had taken Roger a year to write the song, for he had been looking in all the wrong places for inspiration until Mimi came along. When he finally realized Mimi had been his long sought-after "song", it had been almost too late.

"Regan was my sister…my little sister," Roger finally admitted, his green eyes glistening with tears he refused to shed.

Mimi was somewhat astounded she had not even considered the possibility of this Regan being Roger's sister. He had never mentioned ever having a sister, as had no one else. For them to omit something so obviously important, there must be far more to Regan and why she was no longer around than Mimi suspected. Strangely enough, it didn't occur to her to be affronted by this, especially after seeing how strongly her boyfriend was affected. He was on the verge of crying, and she knew Roger was not the type who cried in front of people if he could help it. The only times she had seen his tears had been at Angel's funeral and last Christmas when she had nearly left his life forever. Even mentioning his dead girlfriend had not brought on such a reaction.

"What happened to her?" Mimi asked solemnly. She continued to stroke his hair.

Roger's eyes lingered on the reel lying on the floor in front of the sofa. He swallowed to alleviate the constricting sensation in his throat. "I don't really know what happened to her. She…left one day in November three years ago and never came back."

Mimi's brow furrowed. "She left and never came back? Roger, that can't be all that happened."

For someone who was only twenty and an exotic dancer/ex-junkie, Mimi could be awfully cognizant of his inner feelings. She had not been lying when she had told him she was "old for her age", for though she had made some definite mistakes in her young life she displayed a stunning amount of worldly knowledge and a stunning lack of naïveté. It was a shame, in a way. It appeared oftentimes that Mimi had never actually experienced a full childhood, but, then again, Roger had never really experienced "childhood" in the vernacular meaning of the term either. And neither had Regan, no matter how hard he had tried to make it otherwise.

Roger sighed heavily. "We—Regan and I—had a fight that night. It was the week before Thanksgiving. She had caught me using with April a few weeks before that. She wouldn't talk to me for a week after she saw us…and it didn't help any that she was never fond of April to begin with." In spite of the somber story, Roger had to quirk a little ironic smile at that.

"I mean, it wasn't like she didn't know I was doing smack before that. There was no way she could not have known. I tried to hide it from her, protect her, ya know. But Regan was pretty smart. She had to have figured it out. I guess actually seeing it made her snap. Maybe she had just been in denial before…I don't know. All I know is that when I came home from a gig that night, she was hell bent on confronting me about it."

Roger sat up beside Mimi, who was listening intently. There was no judgment to be found in her beautiful brown eyes, only understanding and compassion. If anyone in this relationship was prejudiced and quick to jump to conclusions, it was definitely him, Roger thought to himself. Mimi was an absolute saint to put up with him. Perhaps Hinduism was the right religion and he had done something extremely noble in a former life. That was the only way he could imagine he would deserve the gorgeous young woman sitting beside him, or, even more, deserve a second chance with her after almost foolishly throwing his first one away.

She nodded to urge him to go on, taking his hand in her own and squeezing it supportively. He drew in another tremulous breath, looking up at the ceiling so the laws of gravity would force his tears back. "She was holding my personal stash. To this day, I still have no idea how she found that shit. She must have been searching all day for it. I told you she was a smart kid. Things probably wouldn't have gone down so badly if I hadn't gotten so drunk before coming home. And the real bitch in this matter is that I can remember everything. You would think that since I was so drunk, there would be holes in my memory. But everything is still so crystal clear. I saw her holding my stash and I got scared. I told her to hand it over to me and she said no, obviously. She told me I needed to get help and that I was going to kill myself with this shit…and then she brought April into the problem. Regan had never liked April right from the moment they had first met. She blamed April for the drug-use."

"She was probably just jealous. Big brother is giving all his attention to someone else. She probably resented April for that," Mimi commented sagely. "How old was she, anyway?"

Roger blinked, figuring up the dates in his head. "When April and I first started going out, Regan was fourteen and a half. When Regan…left…she was sixteen." He gasped, his eyes widening. He turned to Mimi, taking her hands into his own. "Oh my God! Mimi, she'd be twenty by now. Her birthday is on January 29th."

"Oh," Mimi replied, not really knowing what else she could say to that. She and Roger both knew the unspoken phrase was "_if she were alive."_ Apparently, neither of them was quite willing to voice that.

Roger was still thunderstruck by the fact that his baby sister would be twenty by now. It was such a huge thing to finally realize; it made the length of her disappearance all the more noticeable now. The last birthday she had celebrated with them was on that old reel—her sixteenth birthday.

_Oh God, has it really been that long? Has it really been a little over three years since I last saw my sister? What would Regan look like at twenty? She was always so skinny, but that was because she never ate enough. What am I saying? What are the chances she's alive or in any good condition? We looked for her for so long. We would have found her…but, then, Regan was always a resourceful stubborn little brat when she wanted to be. If she didn't want to be found, could she actually still be…Is it possible that she's living a good life now, better than the one I was able to give her? Oh, that would be…great. _

Mimi broke Roger's frantic train of thought by saying his name in a worried tone. He shook his head and surveyed his surroundings almost as if he wasn't quite certain as to where he was. When Mimi laid a hand on his face to turn him towards her and said his name again, his wits returned.

"Sorry…I drifted off for a second. It's just kinda hard to believe my baby sister would be twenty by now. I missed her eighteenth birthday. I really wanted to do something special for her on her eighteenth, and then her twenty-first. Although she was already smoking and drinking before then, which I kind of did nothing to stop, seeing as how I did it when I was her age. I was such a piss-poor substitute parent. My mother's probably been rolling in her grave for years," Roger muttered sullenly.

Though in all honesty, Regan had turned out rather well. Roger had not been alone in "raising" her or caring for her. He, Mark, Benny, Collins, Maureen, and Angel had all taken up the roles of the "village" per se, each giving his or her own personal touch to Regan's latter childhood years upbringing. Mark, Benny, Collins, Angel, and Maureen had all loved Regan as if she had been their own sister, and they were all just as protective of her as Roger had been. Through the poverty, the cold nights, the hunger, through whatever hardship crossed their path, they had still managed to create a happy family out of such a motley crew.

Everything began to shatter when Regan ran away. Her disappearance created a hole, foreshadowing the eventual unraveling of the entire family. First Regan left. Then April committed suicide after finding out she had contracted HIV and passed it on to Roger. Then Benny went and found himself a wife among the greedy wolves of the money mongers. Then Collins left for MIT, taking Angel with him. Of course, Collins and Angel always came back to visit; Benny had rarely ever dropped in. It was like he had severed all his ties with them. Then Maureen dumped Mark for the sassy lawyer named Joanne. And then they lost Angel to AIDS only last October.

Roger stopped to consider the possibility that he was being completely "glass-half-empty" about this. True, Benny had gotten married to Alison Grey, but was it fair to expect him to continue living the bohemian "starving artist" life with them when fate had given him an out? Roger had to concede that it wouldn't be fair, though he and the rest of his friends still couldn't help but feel betrayed. And Maureen was still around; even more, she had brought Joanne into their lives. The straight-laced lawyer had carved herself a niche into the family, something April had never been able to completely do. So, in effect, her leaving Mark had ultimately added to their family.

Then there was Mimi, the most important addition to the family of all, in Roger's eyes. He smiled at his lover, wondering where he would be right now if it weren't for her. He certainly would not be as radiantly happy as he was now. Okay, so perhaps radiantly happy was a bit of an exaggeration, but at least it was not a gross exaggeration, only a small one. Had he felt like this around April? He had loved her, he was sure of that. But had he been so head over heels in love that he could not even think straight at times? Well, perhaps he would know the answer to that question if he and April had not gotten so heavy with the drug use. Roger struggled to remember moments between he and April that had not been tinged in some way with their rotten habits. He found a few, but the shadow of their addictions had always been hanging around like a cloud of doom. It had tainted their relationship. That was probably why the group had never fully accepted her. And Roger hoped it was more than petulant jealousy of stolen attention that prompted his sister to dislike April.

This was one of the first times he had ever truly evaluated his past, especially when it came to April and Regan. In hindsight, he came to realize he had loved April, but it was nothing to what he felt for Mimi now. When he thought Mimi had been dead for those dreadful thirty seconds, he honestly wanted to go with her. He asked himself once if he truly would have taken his own life not long after. It would scare everyone to know that he had found the answer—and the answer was yes.

When he and Mark had found April's body, her blood staining the bathroom floor, he had certainly felt a great deal of shock, grief, and all that goes with it. He had nose-dived into a deep depression before his friends convinced him to check into rehab (most of the depression was, in part, due to learning he was HIV positive), but he could not honestly remember wanting to die. (He was not counting the severe pains of withdrawal that often pushed him to wishing for death. Just about everyone in rehab suffered that.) If anything, the only other time besides with Mimi that he had desired death was when they had been forced to give up the hopeless search for Regan.

"This whole drifting off bit is starting to get a little bit creepy, Roger," Mimi interjected.

He smiled sheepishly. He leaned in and softly kissed her on the lips, taking her somewhat by surprise. But she was always one to rise to the occasion, so she eagerly met his spontaneous kiss before breaking it and saying, "That was nice, babe, but don't think it's getting you out of telling me the rest. It's occurred to me that there's still a lot I don't know about you or your past."

"Mimi, I—" Roger stammered.

Mimi shook her head, smiling reassuringly. "It's okay, Roger. I know everyone has their secrets and I respect that. Your past isn't exactly glamorous and neither is mine. There are some things I haven't told you about me, and, well, there are some things I probably will never tell you. I'm guessing you're gonna turn out the same, and that's fine with me. I never believed people in relationships have to know everything about each other. It takes all the fun out it, anyway. Hell, if you know everything already, there's no mystery left. That's the key to drying up the passion."

_My God, she sounds almost exactly like Regan. Okay, you definitely do _not _want to equate your girlfriend—the one you have sex with every night…and everyday—to your baby sister. That is forbidden and disturbing territory, man._

As disturbing as it could get, Roger could not deny the similarities between Mimi and Regan. Mimi had the same endearing forwardness, the same proclivity to waver between being tremendously blunt and extremely subtle. They both could be stubborn beyond sanity at times, although Roger was really no judge because stubbornness was like a Davis family trait. And their tempers were frighteningly identical: unpredictable and somewhat destructive. Sometimes it would only take a short, seemingly insignificant matter to set Mimi off, as it had been with Regan. (Roger never wanted to say aloud that he chalked this up to "female" problems.). Other times, matters that would normally really light the fuse on Mimi's temper would seem to not faze her at all. Regan had been the same way, although her teenage-hormone driven temper had been even worse and even more unpredictable.

_Would Regan have liked Mimi? _Now that was an interesting question. Roger liked to think the similarities between his girlfriend and his sister could have acted as a common ground for a potentially strong friendship. April had never managed to establish a rapport with Regan, and she never really attempted to. The two of them had been so different, perhaps too different. The dislike between the two had been quite mutual, everyone knew, but April was far more discreet about her feelings. Regan had been rather vocal. Literally.

"What are you smiling about?" Mimi questioned.

Roger just shook his head. "Just the fact that I think I may have finally found a woman my sister would approve of."

Mimi laughed, kissing Roger on the lips before snuggling up in his arms. "I suppose I should be flattered by this news."

Roger leaned his head against the crown of Mimi's head. "Probably. She was a lot like me—slow to trust people most of the time. We had to be, growing up. For a long time, the only ones we could trust were each other."

Mimi stroked his arm, which was wrapped tightly around her torso. "It must have been tough. How old were you when your mother died?"

Roger's voice was completely level when he answered. "I was seventeen, Regan was only twelve. Our lives before living here were not that much different. Hunger and hovering just above the poverty line were a way of life for Regan and me. Even when my mom was alive she was drunk half the time, but she still loved us and cared for us when she could…when she was sober enough. The drink, of course, fucked up her liver and killed her. Regan and me, we had to learn how to fend for ourselves early on. Of course, I did the fending for both of us most of the time."

Mimi was quiet for a moment, taking in all this new information. Then she asked in a timid way, "What about your father?"

She felt her boyfriend stiffen from what she assumed could only be anger of some sort. Again she had asked a question that had produced such emotional reactions from her lover. Would she ever stop doing that?

"My father…you mean the sperm donor of my sister and I? He was…" Roger trailed off, his voice dark with malevolent ire.

"Conspicuously absent?" Mimi tried.

"Oh no, he was around. Being conspicuously absent would have been way too much of a blessing for Mom, Regan, and me," Roger spat, his tone thick with resentful rage.

He didn't have to go any further, for Mimi was intuitive enough to guess what Roger's father had been like. Questioning him about it would probably not go over very well, so she wisely decided to keep her mouth shut on the issue. It made her heart ache even more for her boyfriend, for she had had a very loving, wonderful father in the seven short years he had been in her life. He had no idea what he and Regan could have had, and she did. It was probably best that he remain ignorant as to what he had missed out on.

"He was the reason I took Regan and left home after Mom died. She was the only reason I stuck around, but I shouldn't have even then. I should have taken Regan and run for it when my mother told me to. My stupidity almost got Regan killed. The day of my mom's funeral, after we got back from the cemetery, I was in my room, smoking a cigarette. My father and my sister were in the kitchen, and she was still crying about Mom. I heard my dad tell her to shut up, but she didn't. I mean, Christ, how the fuck are you supposed to tell a twelve-year-old girl who just lost her mother to not cry about it? I don't know why I hesitated so long to run to the kitchen. I guess I was still so fucking numb from everything my brain wasn't making the right connections. I heard him call her…something you don't call your twelve-year-old child and then I heard this awful crashing noise. That was when I ran into the kitchen."

Mimi's breath hitched in her throat, though she had been barely breathing the entire time Roger had been recounting this. She couldn't tell whether he knew he was talking to her, or just getting it all off his chest. It didn't matter either way, for something told her that this story had never been told aloud before. Not even to Mark. She felt a sick sense of privilege at being the one to hear such a dark memory retold.

His voice was taut with repressed rage as he continued. "I had seen the fucker hit my mother, and I had done nothing but try and shield Regan from it. He had even slapped me around a few times. But I had never seen him hit her…ever. But when I went into that kitchen, I saw her lying on the floor…her head was bleeding and she looked so pale. I thought she was dead…and I took a chair and flew at my father. I beat the fucker black and blue before I heard Regan cry out a little."

"I left my father where he was; I didn't even care if I had killed him at the time. I should have cared, because if I had killed him, I would have been sent to jail and Regan…they would have sent her into foster care. All we had were each other, I couldn't lose her and she needed me. So, I took what money and valuable possessions we had, packed up some of Regan's and my things and we left. I was too scared even to take her to the hospital, even though she had been knocked on the head pretty badly. I did a few more illegal things, like getting papers to say that I was her legal guardian so if we were tracked down I would have some kind of legitimate claim to her. Somewhere along the line we met Mark and Benny and Collins and ended up living here with them. And then Maureen, Angel, and April came along later."

Mimi was astonished by all of this. She had sensed her boyfriend had come from a broken home, but she had never imagined the great lengths he had gone to in order to protect and care for his sister. Hearing this made it all the more obvious how wonderful was this man she had fallen so deeply for. A small tear formed at the corner of her eye, which she blinked away.

"And Regan…when we moved in here and she was enrolled in the local school it was like all that shit with our dad had never happened. I thought she was gonna be traumatized and in serious need of therapy for the rest of her life, but she was so much stronger than I ever gave her credit for. I mean, she wasn't completely unaffected. When we first moved in here, the first few months took a lot of adjusting, and she was constantly having these nightmares. But soon she bounced back into the swing of semi-normal life. She and I never really talked about our lives before living here…and we never really told the rest of them much about it."

Mimi sat up and leaned her head against Roger's. His confession had explained so many things about himself and his past to her, but it had also opened up some incredibly complex questions, questions she was not sure she possessed the courage to ask. She hated to put him through any sort of pain—physical or emotional. Heaven knew she had already done enough of that to last them both a lifetime. She had wanted to focus on the short amount of time she had left with him; she had wanted to focus only on happiness and content.

Who knew how long she had before the virus flowing through her bloodstream would become full-fledged AIDS? Roger had not had HIV as long as she had, though he was four years older than her. He probably had a few years more than she, God willing. They hadn't talked about the incident almost three months ago, nor did they speak of the ticking biological clock within Mimi's body. When she had gone off her medication and allowed her body to be exposed to all of the wintry New York City elements, she had severely weakened her system. Even though she was back on track, she knew that mistake she made would cost her precious time. The only question was, how much time? She didn't dwell on it though. Focusing on when the time came for her to die was not how she wanted to spend what was left of her life.

_No day but today_, she had told Roger. _Forget regret or life is yours to miss. _

This regret that her lover carried within him, however, was not something he could easily forget. She had not even heard the full story of what had really happened that November night that had caused him to drive Regan away. She was not exactly sure she wanted to hear all the details, for it appeared as if Roger had gone through enough guilty suffering. She didn't want to make him relive any more painful moments from the past—painful moments that still ate away at his soul.

Mimi's eyes landed on the forgotten reel with Regan's name pasted on the surface. She retrieved it from the box, running her nails over the ink in a thoughtful way. Roger was watching her with a questioning look in his green eyes. She smiled broadly at him and kissed him on the forehead.

"What do you say we watch this old movie and put all those demons inside you to rest for good? You can't undo the past, Roger. There's nothing you can do to help Regan now. You need to let her go, for your sake and ours. There's a chance she's okay and doing real well…so think of that. You did say she was a smart kid, after all," she said softly.

Roger closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them and leaning into Mimi's embrace, laying his hand over top of her hand, which lay on the reel. "I know, baby, but it's not as easy as that. If I knew what had happened to her, maybe I could let her go. But this uncertainty, it's always been hanging around me for the past three years. I'll never know if she's scared, or if she's hungry, or if she's hurt, or if she's ever forgiven me, or…God, I sound like an anxious mother whose just sent her kid off to college."

Mimi was grinning in amusement, her brown eyes glittering with mirth. "Yeah, and it's really kind of cute."

Roger snorted, wiping at his wet eyes and sniffling. He picked up the reel, regarding it closely for a moment before rising to his feet. "Ah, what the hell? I'll go get the projector."

* * *

Something that I feel should be cleared up is the whole HIV or AIDS dilemma. Now, I know in the movie they kept mixing the two together as if they were the same thing. A lot of fanfiction stories here have followed suit, and I cannot blame them. However, since I'm going pre-med, it has always bothered me how the two terms get confused. Roger, Mimi, and Collins are HIV positive, they do _not_ have AIDS yet. HIV is the virus that causes the syndrome known as AIDS. Basically, having AIDS is worse than being HIV positive. Some of the characters in the story will mix the two up as they have done in the movie, but I want to ensure the readers are aware of the difference. 


	3. First Move

**Chapter Three  
First Move**

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Regan muttered. The Van Gogh "Starry Night" recreation she had purchased had once again slumped to the right on the wall. This was the third time she had caught the discrepancy, and, for some reason, the sight of an uneven portrait was more irritating than usual.

She untangled herself from the myriad of cords she was swamped with and walked over to the wall. She grasped the edges of the picture and forced it back into its correct position. Once satisfied it was level and would not drive her crazy, she ambled back over to her current nearly impossible task: hooking up her entertainment system on her own. Electronics and the intricate manner in which they functioned had never been Regan's forte. She was determined to figure it out though, even if it took her all damn night.

"Okay, red cord goes in the hole with the red circle around it…check. And this cord…what the hell is this one? Christ, it's like trying to deactivate a bomb or something," she grumbled churlishly.

For the past week, "moving in" had been her chief activity. She had not even gone patrolling yet, although she had finally introduced herself to the base commander and all the rest of the chiefs here in New York. Since she technically outranked even the highest-ranking Slayer on this base, she was basically given free reign. Her position here was primarily as an independent, but, if she so chose, she could go out with a squad. As of right now, however, slaying was far from her thoughts. All she could focus on now was hooking up her damn DVD player so she could watch a movie or two.

Another task she had been shamefully putting off was going to see her brother. Ever since that disaster of a phone-call where she had been too cowardly to even say hello, she had decided it was safe to say a face-to-face meeting was not something she was quite ready for. This was going to be a lot harder than she had previously predicted. Therefore, in the absence of chopping off the heads of the undead and meeting up with estranged relatives, she had been busy turning her living space into a home. This was also turning out to be more difficult than she thought.

_Go fucking figure,_ she mused ironically to herself.

Regan almost jumped out of her skin when the sounds of Led Zeppelin's "_Stairway to Heaven"_ pierced the silence. She smacked herself on the head when she realized it was her cell phone. She pulled herself upright and (while nearly tripping over a cord), stumbled over to the table.

When she saw the caller ID, she sighed and flipped open the top.

"I'm not home, Ariana" she greeted sarcastically.

"_Sounds like someone's in a pissy mood," _an equally sardonic voice drawled on the other end.

"Yeah, well, this someone's been messing with wires and crooked pictures all day. How would you be?" she shot back.

"_Eh. I just shoved my hand into a demon's chest and ripped its heart out. Got smelly goo all over myself. I think I win the 'suckiest day' contest today."_

Regan snorted, her green eyes drifting over to the pile of cords and wires. Her gaze wandered back to the Van Gogh picture, which had yet again slumped to the right side. She narrowed her eyes into an irate glare.

"I'd rather be ripping out demon hearts. It just looks so much simpler," she replied flatly.

The voice on the other end chuckled in amusement. Regan shook her head and slowly sank into a chair. She rested her head on her hand, pressing her small phone up to her ear with the other. She had the feeling, all of a sudden, that there was such a weight pressing down on her, a weight too great for even a Slayer to handle. It sounded so great to hear a familiar voice; it made Regan wish that perhaps she had not made this decision. She was still unsure as to whether it was the right one.

"I didn't go through with it yet if that's why you're calling," Regan reported glumly.

There was a deep sigh that followed Regan's confession. When Ariana began to speak again, there was a definite change of tone than from a few moments before. "_It's gonna take some time, Regan. You really didn't think you were going to be capable of just walking right up to him as soon as you got to New York. It's been three years."_

"I know," Regan sighed dolefully. "A part of me doesn't ever want to do this because I'm so fucking afraid of what will happen…and another part of me is just dying to get this done and over with."

"_You do miss him though. I know you do. You miss all of them," _her friend remarked sagely.

Regan smiled faintly, she closed her eyes and gave a tired heave of breath. "Yeah. I do miss them. I miss them all so much it hurts…but…Ari…it's just so hard. After all this time, what will they think of me? Disappearing with no trace and never once sending them word that I'm okay. Roger will be so angry."

"_From what you've told me, it sounds like most of the apologizing that needs to be done ought to come from him. Do you think he's stopped using by now?"_ Ariana asked levelly.

Regan grimaced from the memories that flared up. She pushed them away, for she was in no mood to go down those particularly lanes tonight. "I don't know. I hope so. Mark and the rest of them probably forced him into rehab. At least I know he's still alive. I called a few days ago."

"_You called? What the fuck? Why didn't you tell me? I thought you said you weren't ready to go through all that shit. If he already knows—" _Ariana began to spout out.

"He doesn't," Regan sheepishly interjected. "I froze when I heard his voice. After he said hello a couple of times I hung up. I mean, come on, I can't tell my big brother that I'm in town after having gone AWOL for three years by phone. I mean, that is just so…lame. It has to be in person."

"_Wow. You actually called the first day you got there. Didn't think you had it in you, Davis," _Ariana remarked in awe.

"Yeah, well, it was actually more of a way to see if he was still living in Alphabet City. I had kind of been hoping he had moved from there. I wonder if Benny, Mark, Tom, and Maureen are still living with him. All I heard was his voice, I didn't hear anyone in the background," Regan recounted thoughtfully.

"_Only one way to find out, Regan,"_ Ariana reminded her.

"Okay, I get it. But I need to adjust to being back home first. I mean, I've got to finish my apartment so I can watch my movies and keep up with House and Grey's Anatomy. I'm thinking of getting a tivo. Oh, and I do need to get a car," Regan said.

"_You do know you're doing your avoiding thing here, don't you? Chica, am I going to have to come up there and hog-tie you and then drag your skinny white ass to your brother's place? Cuz don't think I won't," _Ariana threatened in exasperation.

Regan laughed at the picture of her intimidating squad-mate actually following through on her threat—which was a distinct possibility. ArianaCartez was known for being rather unpredictable in her actions. Aside from that, she was an excellent fighter, one of the very best underneath Buffy and Faith. Like Regan, she had received no formal training from a watcher before coming to Sunnydale, but she had grown up in a rough environment not all that different from the East Village setting Regan had lived in. Learning to subsist on nearly nothing while simultaneously learning to protect yourself and what little you possessed had been the guiding force in both these Slayers' lives. It was no wonder they had become close friends over the course of the last three years.

"I don't think it will come to that, Ari. But you should come visit. Maybe if all goes well you can meet the family, in a manner of speaking. Roger's the only blood relative I have left, as far as I know anyway," Regan told her.

Suddenly, a strange thought occurred to Regan and her green eyes widened considerably. "Oh my God, Ari…"

"_What?"_

"What if Roger isn't the only blood relative I have left? What if he has a kid? Oh dear God, I hope he didn't knock April up. I don't want a niece or nephew descended from her," Regan whined, her mind automatically leaping from one disturbing conclusion to another.

"_Uh, so what? Isn't much you can do about that, chica," _Ariana said sensibly. "_Besides, what was so wrong with this April chick anyway?"_

Regan brooded and scoffed much in the same way she might have four years ago when asked that question. She could not for certain say there was any one specific thing that bothered her when it came to her brother's girlfriend. Right from the start, Regan just outright did not like her. She _had_ actually tried to get to know April and establish some sort of neutral feelings for her in the absence of any congenial feelings, but she could never get beyond childish resentment and dislike.

If she were willing to admit it to herself (which she was not), she would have known most of her hatred stemmed from jealousy. She had been the only girl in her brother's life for such a long time. She had held the spotlight even when he had started to accumulate a number of slack-jawed groupies during his music career. She knew he had entertained some flings now and again, but none of these flings ever turned out to be anything serious. Until April, that is.

To Regan, April had not looked, thought, or acted any different from the rest of the punk-rock groupies that had worshipped her brother. When her brother had stayed after a gig to have a cup of coffee with her, Regan had figured he was just wooing another potential fling, albeit from a different angle than he usually used. Perhaps Regan should have taken that as a warning sign that April would not turn out be a "fling".

Unfortunately, she had been left to being just as shocked as everyone else when Roger took her to the loft and formally introduced her. He _never_ did that with common flings. Sometimes Regan even doubted her brother knew the names of _half_ of his flings. This was when the light bulb had finally flared to life above her fifteen-year-old head. He had acknowledged this busty, heavily made-up, and rather scantily clad woman in front of them all. This upgraded the situation between the two from fling to relationship.

April certainly had been pretty; Regan could at least give her that. Even in the early mornings when she had not yet applied her mountain of make-up, she had still looked lovely. The same could not have been said for Regan at the time. Puberty had decided to rear its ugly head a bit later than the other girls at school so that at fifteen, when she should have started to roll down from the peak, she was just starting to climb the hill. She had hit a growth spurt of only about three inches, which brought her up to the average height for women. Her breasts, at that age, had been those paltry "mosquito bites", the bane of every teenage girl's existence whenever she is bombarded with all those pictures of famous women with gigantic mounds on their chests. Her body had not yet formed the modest curves she sported today. She had always been on the thin, fine-boned side, cementing her outward appearance as being delicate, which was definitely far from the truth. Her face at fifteen had been a monstrosity of blackheads and zits, nowhere near the relatively clear, pale complexion she had today. Her acne probably would not have been so bad if they could have afforded good acne medication; but of course they weren't able to.

Sometimes Regan wished she had some pictures of herself as a teenager just to show all her friends how much she had changed by nature alone. Her breasts had thankfully grown into healthy C-cup sizes, her curves finally appeared, her acne mostly disappeared, and she even added an inch or two to her height, bringing her up to the respectable level of five feet and seven inches.

As belated as her physical development was, she could not say she was displeased with the outcome. She liked to equate herself to the ugly ducking who grew up to be a swan. She was not so vain to believe there was that remarkable of a difference between herself at twenty and herself at fifteen. But she could safely say she was far easier on the eyes, even going so far to say that, with the right lighting and clothes, she could be beautiful. One could also not forget that she had gone through intense physical training on top of all that late development, which had streamlined her physique into that of an athlete—a gymnast to be specific.

So, perhaps it was jealousy that had ruled most of Regan's feelings towards April. April had been beautiful with and without make-up so that every guy turned his neck to edge in a second glance. April had stolen away her brother's affection so that most of his time had been spent with her. Of course, Regan could not say she could blame Roger. Who wants to hang around with a gawky little sister when you have a cute girlfriend?

However, jealousy was cut out of the picture the day Regan's eyes were finally opened to how Roger and April spent most of their time together. It had not been that long after her sixteenth birthday, only a few weeks at the most. New York City was being inundated with an ice storm so bad that schools had been called off for almost two weeks.

She remembered how she had spent most of her time off school: wandering around the streets of Alphabet City. Normally, Roger would have scolded her senseless about wandering around alone at her age. The rest of the gang probably would have as well, but she was quite adept at sneaking away without anyone's notice. It was usually hours before one of them—Benny, Mark, Collins, Maureen, Angel, or Roger—noticed she was gone. And that was usually when she returned.

When Regan looked back on it now, she was amazed she had never been injured severely, abducted by some psycho, or even killed by some psycho because of her brazen nature. She had been jumped a few times, but she always had managed to escape relatively unscathed and she rarely went wandering around at night. (Then she might have been a snack for a vampire, though she had not believed in their existence at the time.) She had learned which streets were the safest and which she should never walk upon day or night without one of the guys with her. It wasn't like she just went curiously searching out every dank back alley she passed. She hadn't been entirely bold; she had known her limits.

That day off of school, though, she had wandered down the wrong back alley. She had only briefly looked up from watching her feet crunch the ice when she thought she saw her brother and April slink away behind a building. Against her better judgment, her curiosity instigated her into following them.

Regan had gone through all the drug lessons at school and outside of it. She had personally decided marijuana was relatively harmless, although she did not smoke it. She drank a little beer and wine every now and then (if it were available), and she even smoked a few cigarettes now and again. But she knew better than to get involved with the heavy drugs such as cocaine, LSD, heroin, and speed. Those drugs were dangerous, and they could lead to even worse consequences than jail.

She had watched in shock intermingled with horror as her brother tied a tourniquet around his arm and stuck a needle in his vein. Before she could watch April do the same, she had backed away and run all the way home. The days following that, while school had still been out, she had remained shut up in her room, barely speaking to anyone. It had taken a lot of time for her to grasp the concept of her brother actually doing drugs. Honestly, though, it really should not have come as such a surprise. Roger had been a small-scale rock singer, and he did live in the East Village—living as a bohemian no less. It really was nothing rare for drugs to enter the picture.

Although she knew perfectly well that Roger had been fully capable of making his own decisions about what he put in his body, Regan still felt, on some subliminal level, that April was the reason he started using. She was certain he had not been doing smack before April came into their lives. Whatever redeeming qualities April could have made for herself in Regan's eyes were completely gone once Regan realized the full extent of their habits. To this day, Regan still could not find it within her to forgive April, though it was no concrete fact she was the one who brought Roger into that world. It was the drugs, after all, that had fueled that horrible clash between she and her brother over three years ago.

_God, I really hope Roger got help. He sounded okay on the phone, which is a good sign. He must have stopped using to sound so good after all this time. And maybe he's dumped April by now. _

"_Regan? Are you there?" _Ariana asked in concern.

"Huh? Oh, Ari…sorry, I drifted off for a moment," Regan explained in a dazed way.

"_Yeah, no shit. Listen, chica, I gotta go. We're gonna be heading out soon, but I expect you to update me a lot about this. Don't even think about pulling the same stunt you pulled with your brother on me. I have the means to find you and kick your ass if you do," _Ariana warned in a serious tone.

Regan rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Ari. I'm not gonna go AWOL on everyone. Jeez, what do you take me for?"

Ariana did not seem to find this funny at all. In fact, she was being downright serious. "_I mean it, Regan. You worry me sometimes. And not just me. The rest of the girls worry, too. Are you sure you're all right?"_

Regan smiled weakly, her eyes resting upon the waiting pile of cords she had yet to sort out. "I'm fine. Don't worry so much."

* * *

Morning sunlight streamed through the windows that had yet to be furnished with curtains and blinds. Regan was sleeping restlessly on the sofa, tossing around and moaning in the throes of an intense dream. She had drifted off not long after starting a movie in her now successfully hooked up DVD player. Sleeping on the sofa was never very comfortable for anyone, but Regan had become accustomed to sleeping in unorthodox places whether they were comfortable or not. The only problem with sleeping on the sofa for her was when a nightmare occurred she tended to move around a lot. And since a sofa is typically rather narrow… 

"Ah!" Regan shrieked when her head bounced off the floor. She shot up into a sitting position; her breaths were short and rapid. Her system was saturated with nightmare-induced adrenaline, and she was soaked with cold sweat. Strands of her dark brown hair were plastered to her forehead.

Regan let out a sigh of relief when she recognized her surroundings. She closed her eyes and laid a hand on her forehead for a moment before pulling herself to her feet. The digital clock she had just bought yesterday was set on an end table. She glanced at it to see that the time was 8:34. This was normally the time she awoke, even when she had been a child (if it had been a weekend). Sleeping late into the morning had been a rare pastime for her.

She dragged herself to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. She cupped her hands under the cool cascade of water and splashed it over her face, letting the liquid soothe away the tension for a few moments. After a few moments of just leaning over the sink, Regan glanced at her reflection in the mirror and winced. Her hair was a greasy, tangled, dark mass on her head and her skin was virtually colorless. What little make-up that had not worn away with the hours was smeared now and she could detect a faint odor emanating from herself. She really needed to shower.

Setting the water as hot as she could possibly stand, she doffed her clothes and stepped under the steaming spray. She didn't even scrub for a few minutes, but merely allowed the pressure of the water massage her aching muscles, which had become cramped over the night from sleeping on the small sofa.

A half-hour later she emerged from the shower and wrapped a towel round her body. She walked up to the mirror and wiped away the foggy moisture that had accumulated, satisfied to see her reflection looking much improved. She noticed in particular how much brighter her eyes appeared. Throughout her childhood, her one saving grace in physical looks had been those two emerald eyes perched beneath her dark brows. She and her brother had both inherited them from their father; quite possibly the only good thing they had gotten from him.

_Roger._

How long was she going to avoid the inevitable? How long was she going to allow her resolve to continue to waver until she ended up making a mistake during some random patrol and got herself killed? She knew that this entire debacle was weighing on her and sooner or later it would begin to affect her work. That was usually how things progressed with Regan unless she acted before it was too late.

She came to New York City for a reason, and yet, here she was, not fulfilling the reason, the promise she had made to herself. The promise that, one day, she would find her brother and make things right again before she really did get killed in battle. She did not want to die without ever having told her brother she loved him, without ever having apologized, or without ever having told him she had forgiven him.

Some would consider Regan's thinking rather pessimistic, but active duty Slayers, especially those on hellmouths know that, even with the strength in numbers, their jobs were still very dangerous. One little mistake, one lapse in judgment, could spell death for an entire crew of Slayers. She knew her odds well, and she was not willing to gamble with her regrets and transgressions. Regan was determined to die with at least a clearer conscience, if not a clear one. There were simpler reasons for her return to New York, however; six of them in fact.

Roger.

Mark.

Benny.

Collins.

Maureen.

Angel.

Oh, how she missed them all. She longed to hear their voices again. She longed to know that they were all right, that they were happy, that they were doing well. Years had been spent wondering over the fate of her bohemian family, but fear had always held her back from finding the truth on her own. But Regan had decided it was time for fear to be kicked off its throne. She needed initiative to lead her life now.

"Just do it, Regan," she ordered herself. She forced her face into an expression of calm determination. Her hands clenched the porcelain sides of the sink tightly.

"Stop thinking all those bleak thoughts about death and go see your brother, God damn it! You've squared off with Turok-Hans with next to no experience and lived to tell the tale, you can do this!" she encouraged herself. "You lived on the fucking streets for a month and a half at the age of sixteen because you were a stubborn brat! Stop over-complicating this. Just go right up to the door, knock, and say 'hello'. If he's not home, you wait or try again. You've been over this."

Regan had to be grateful she did not have a roommate because talking to herself in the mirror was certain to have raised quite a few eyebrows. Actually, she was not even talking to herself. It was more akin to screaming at herself like she was a boot camp cadet and the drill sergeant all wrapped up in one package.

So it was that the young Slayer found herself twenty minutes later dry, dressed, and with her make-up on and hair pulled back in a loose pony-tail striding purposefully towards her rental car. Before pulling out of the lot, she checked to make sure she had all her essentials with her such as her emergency make-up, her hairbrush, her wallet with her license, cash, and credit cards, her keys, her cell phone, her pager (recently issued by the base in case there was an emergency she had to cater to), a Swiss army knife, a dagger, a stake, hand lotion, holy water, and, of course, chap stick. Underneath her seat was a bag of extra weapons in case of an emergency, but she never went out without at least something sharp on her person (even a nail file could suffice).

She also had a strange little device that acted as a sort of distress call in the event she found herself in trouble. It doubled as a homing device as well, so that when she activated the distress alarm, help could be dispatched to easily find her. Every Slayer base harbored them and just about every Slayer was required to carry one with her when she went out on patrol. Had she known she had it with her, she probably would have left in the apartment. She really saw no need for it if she was just going to visit family.

_Actually, considering the circumstances, this little bugger might just come in handy._

Regan took a deep breath to steady her chaotic nerves. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly, had she exerted just a little bit more pressure she could have crushed it. She then turned the key in the ignition and eased out of the parking lot.

The entire way to the East Village she kept her mind focused only on the road. She was grateful for the distraction, for if she had stopped to actually _think_ she might very well have lost what little nerve she had garnered and turned right around. She knew automatically when she had entered East Village territory, for the buildings suddenly became more noticeably ramshackle and there were legions of people walking the sidewalks in tattered clothes; some of these people were even sleeping against walls, on benches, or right on the ground. A few had actual sleeping bags, while others were reduced to using old, dirty newspapers or nothing at all. All of New York City had this problem, but the shiny modern buildings of the parts of the city tourists usually kept to distracted from the obvious contrast between the rich and the poor.

It reminded her of one particular class in high school where they had discussed the wealth of New York compared with other states. If one took the average income of a New Yorker, it would be much higher than most of the United States. But, if one were to take the median income, New York would have a higher poverty rate than many states in the South. New York was a state of extremes on both ends. There were incredibly rich people—billionaires—practically living right next door to people who had nothing to their names. It was one of America's darkest secrets.

She glanced at the graffiti splayed across the brick and cement walls, not even bothering to try and decipher the multitude of words and phrases. She smiled humorlessly when she noticed people dressed in extremely outrageous, expressive clothing dancing around with tambourines, drumming on plastic buckets, or playing on old, most likely out-of-tune, guitars.

_Ah, Alphabet City…the home of the starving artist…La Vie Boheme_, she mused to herself sardonically.

She had been raised by a bunch of starving artists, in a manner of speaking. Roger with his guitar and his ambition, though he could never seem to write a song he was ever completely satisfied with. Mark with that old camera of his and those endless stacks of rejected screenplays and scripts. Maureen, a true performer to the end, though by no means cut out for the mainstream. She had been a tightly packed ball of vibrant energy, the life of the party. Her extroverted, impulsive (and sometimes rather childish) nature had brought cheer to more than one dark, depressing night at the loft.

Angel, of course, had been a piece of art unto herself. Though she technically was not a woman, she had been more beautiful, more creative, and definitely more expressive than most women Regan had met in her life. Collins had been the eldest of them all. Though she could not specifically cast him as any type of "artist", he had been truly wise and insightful. She knew Collins had dreamt of becoming a teacher. Regan hoped he eventually got to see his dream come true. He certainly deserved it.

Would they all still be there? Or was it just Roger living all alone, with no one there to listen to him strum out his half-written tunes on his guitar? How much had things changed in three years? How much had she missed out on? Were Mark and Maureen still together? Were Collins and Angel still together? Moreover, what did they think happened to her? Did they believe she was dead, or just missing? It was hard to tell what they might think after so much time. How would they react to seeing her now, alive and actually successful in life?

_More importantly, how precisely do I explain my success? I can't just tell them I'm a Vampire Slayer working for an international supernatural organization right from the beginning. They'd think I was nuts. No, that has to come sometime later. They did teach me a lot about how to survive on the streets, so maybe I can just let them fill in the gaps themselves and wait to tell them the entire truth…Christ, why didn't I think about this part earlier?_

Right as she parked across the street from the loft where she had spent half her teenage years, the issue of explaining where she had been and why she had stayed away so long (not to mention why she never sent any word) was pressing down upon her. Regan sat in the car for a full five minutes before finally deciding on an amorphous course of action. Normally, she was competent at telling little white lies or running off random explanations to explain simple events to strangers. But it would take a lot more than a white lie to explain where she had been for three years to her bohemian family. It would take a hell of a lot more. And to top it off, there were other dimensions to the story that went beyond the where factor. She did not even plan on lying to them for long, if ever. What she had decided to do was glaze over the story—half-ass it, in the typical American fashion to stall for time. She couldn't just dump the truth on them right now, not until they had time to adjust to her return.

_Well, look at it this way, Regan_, she told herself as she walked across the street, _at least if they don't want to see you again you won't have to bother with a half-assed explanation. _

Her heart began to race as she approached the steps leading up to the green double-door entrance. She stopped mid-stride when she realized this was the first time she had laid eyes on this building, on those doors, on those steps, on the whole damn street in a little over three years. It felt so incredibly surreal to stand there at that moment. She felt a sudden upwelling of nostalgia manifest. She swallowed and wiped at her eyes. She definitely did not want her brother to see her for the first time in over three years looking like she had just watched _Moulin Rouge_ alone.

While she was standing there trying to overcome her emotions, one of the green doors started to open. She gasped, for she thought it might be Roger. She might have been going to see him, but she wanted to be fully prepared and more or less in control of when she saw him. This could not be how they reunited after so long. This was not on her terms, here!

Luckily for Regan, it was not Roger who came out the door. She sighed in relief, relaxing her suddenly ramrod stiff stance. However, when she looked back towards the person who had come out the door, she gasped in surprise coupled with recognition.

_Oh my God…Benny?_

* * *

Ah, my wonderful reviewers. You gems really brighten my day. I know some of you were skeptical of this story, firstly for crossing such distinctly different worlds and the main character being original. Rest assured I have a pretty good track record with creating original characters. Just ask at least two of my reviewers (**Jellyfish72** and **Saxifrage**) who are fans of other works of mine. I have never, at least in my opinion, created a"Mary-Sue" as some people on this site like to call them. 

But, for the ones who admitted being skeptical, I thank you profusely for taking a chance on this starving artist. I would love to reply to everyone's reviews, but I am incredibly busy with my senior year of high school. I'm a class officer for one thing and I'm stuck with arranging all these things for my class, I work, I've got my drama club rehearsals,and I've got about fifty different scholarship essays to write up since I am poor. However, when I find the time, I would love to reply and answer any questions you ask since the site no longer allows review replies.

Until the next update!

By the way, if you're looking for another good RENT/BtVS crossover, **Ilse M Jupnur** hasa lovely piece called "Chance Meeting". For those who have not already, go check it out.


	4. Tears and Fears

**Chapter Four  
****Tears and Fears **

He was dressed in the finest clothes she had ever seen upon him, although they were honestly no finer than the clothes she was wearing right now. His mocha skin complimented the creamy white of his jacket rather well, and he was still just as dazzling to the eye as he had ever been. Those same dark eyes, the chiseled jaw and facial structure, the shiny bald head that only black men could ever seem to sport and still look sexy. That was Benjamin Coffin III all right, and he was looking better than ever, if a little depressed.

"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice still resonated with that same deep, pleasant tone. She blushed when she remembered the huge crush she had harbored as a child.

_Holy shit. He doesn't recognize me and I'm fucking staring like a gawping tourist._ She had no idea how to answer that. She was stuck behind one of two doors: tell him who she was or let him pass by only to have him find out later. She figured she ought to think of something to say quickly so he wouldn't think she was a gaping idiot, although she probably had already ruined that one.

"Ma'am, are you…?"

_Oh no, he trailed off. Does that mean…? _

Benny's brow had furrowed, his eyes had narrowed, and he had taken one more step down to ground level. He was not moving his dark, penetrating gaze from her, which was becoming rather uncomfortable. She averted her eyes from his gaze, knowing that those, if anything, would be her most recognizable feature. But the damage (relatively speaking) had already been done.

"Oh my God," she heard him murmur in disbelief. "Regan…is—is that you?"

Regan slowly returned his wide-eyed gaze, which was crammed full of numerous emotions, the most noticeable being plain shock. She smiled nervously and nodded curtly, still unable to make her vocal cords spit out lucid words. She wished he would take that piercing gaze off of her for at least a second so she could regain her bearings. This was probably a good thing, though. She could get in some practice dealing with shocked, piercing gazes of disbelief before dealing with the one gaze that would probably affect her the most.

Without even thinking, she choked out the first words that popped into her head. "How's it going, Benny?"

Her words evoked the strangest reaction from Benny. First his jaw dropped slightly, and it looked almost like he wanted to reach out to grasp a railing, which, incidentally, was decidedly absent. His eyes released her from their paralyzing grip for a split second as he quietly repeated her words.

"How's it going? How's it going?" After that he emitted the strangest bark of high-pitched laughter she had ever heard from a man like him. Regan shifted on her feet nervously, wondering if perhaps she had sent the poor man over the edge.

_Well, shit, if Benny reacts this way then how will Roger react? I might just give the dude a heart attack. Maybe this is a bad idea._

"No word. No sign. Nothing. For over three years." It appeared that Benny had finally regained _his_ bearings. "And the first thing you say to me is 'How's it going, Benny?'" His tone was impressively neutral, but, then again, Benny had always been a man with a short tether on his emotions.

Regan shrugged because she could think of nothing else to do. "Um, looks like." She scuffed her feet on the sidewalk and quickly glanced to the side before glancing back to Benny. She hardly noticed she had begun to bob a little—a nervous habit of hers. "So…how has it been going?"

For a moment, Regan was afraid she really had done it. The way Benny was looking at her frightened her just a bit. She relaxed when his face split into a wide grin. He practically leapt the rest of the way down the steps and, before Regan could get a word in, she was engulfed in a tight, spinning hug. Benny was laughing loudly as he swung her around, and he was still grinning widely when he finally released her. His eyes roved up and down her entire form, resulting in another plume of bright red on her white cheeks.

"Look at you! I hardly even recognize you!" he exclaimed. Clearly, his emotions were no longer so tightly tethered.

"Look at you! You're all…fancy, and still quite the looker. And…you're….married?" She caught the gold ring on his left ring finger and quirked an eyebrow in surprise.

"Uh yeah," he replied. "A year and a half now."

_Oh wow, I did miss a lot. _

Regan smiled in delightful surprise. "Well, a belated congratulations to you and the lucky lady. What's her name?"

Benny sucked in a hissing breath between his teeth, which was never a good sign. The first conclusion Regan jumped to was that Benny had not, in fact, married a woman, which really made no difference to her. It definitely would be quite a shocker, for she had never pegged him as a homosexual.

"Alison," he finally informed her. The way he said it, however, bade Regan to think there was something more to it here.

_Alison. Do I know an Alison? I don't think I do…Wait…yes I do! _

"Alison Grey?" she asked.

Benny nodded almost sheepishly. Regan almost laughed at the ludicrous idea of one of the penniless bohemians ever winning the heart of a woman of such ilk as Alison Grey. Of course, one should never underestimate the subtle charm of a man like Benjamin Coffin III. It appeared not even an urban princess such as Alison was immune from such charm.

"Wow. Now that's what I call a catch. Way to go, Benny," she said, obviously impressed. Although she was a little bit depressed he was no longer on the market now that she was officially of age and good looks.

Benny snorted in a way that sounded strangely ironic. "Well, you'd be the first of the gang to see it that way."

_Oh, right. Her father like owns the entire street or whatever. They probably think he sold them out. _

"Ah," she replied in comprehension.

"But…what about you? Do the rest of them know you're here? I mean, I just came back from visiting Roger and…he would have said something. At least, I guess he would have," Benny intoned eagerly.

Regan sighed. "Nobody else knows. You're the first one. Lucky you." She pulled away from him and settled down on the first step. Benny was quick to move beside her. He was quiet and patient on the outside, but she presumed he was probably brimming with a plethora of questions.

"God, Regan," he finally spoke. She looked up, but he was not looking at her. He was looking off down the street into the distance. "We thought something terrible had happened to you. Do you have any idea what you put us all through? Christ, if it weren't for Angel and Collins's belief that you couldn't be declared dead until a body was found, you would have a gravestone by now."

_Heh. Should I be grateful for that? Hey cool, now it's like I'm back from the dead. I sort of pulled a "Buffy." _

"I'm sorry," she said solemnly. "It was wrong of me to not tell you guys anything for so long. It's just…" She sighed and massaged her temples. How could she explain herself when even she did not know the entire reason she stayed silent and stayed away?

"I know. I know what happened that night, and I know it woke up some of those demons from your past. But, I mean, God, three years? And now…" Benny did not finish his thought, but he was definitely troubled about something. Well, troubled may not have been the right term. He sounded more like he was calmly flummoxed by something.

"Now what?" she asked.

Benny waved his hand all over in her direction. "You look…fantastic. I mean, wow, you really look good. You look so different. I swear I didn't recognize you when I first saw you. Things couldn't have gone that badly for you."

_Well, depends on your definition of badly._ She quirked a small smile at him, but it quickly dissipated when she saw the expression on his face. Something other than her appearance was troubling him; she found this profoundly disturbing. She felt a strange sensation in her gut, the sensation she normally felt whenever she was about to receive news she would not like.

"Benny, what's wrong?" she queried, a degree of fear in her tone.

Benny sighed and grasped her hand, but then he quickly dropped it. He rubbed at the back of his neck while he tried to find words to convey just how much everything had changed in only three years.

"Okay, you're starting to freak me out just a little bit," she told him. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Benny finally looked at her, his eyes full of compassion and sadness. "Regan, things have changed a lot since you've been gone."

_Well, duh._ "I kinda figured that. What, you didn't think I was gonna come back after three years expecting to find everything and everyone as they were? Really, you ought to know better. I mean, hell, you've gone and gotten married to Alison Grey. That's crazy enough as it is. Next thing you know you'll be telling me Maureen is gay or something." She chuckled a bit at her little joke, but her laughter died off when she heard no laughter on Benny's end.

Her jaw dropped when she saw his face. "You're joking!" He shook his head. "Ah, no way!"

"She left Mark for a lawyer named Joanne. She's actually a pretty interesting woman. I think you'd like her," Benny told her.

Regan rolled this information around in her brain as if she wanted to taste it before ingesting it. She decided the information was not disturbing at all, and neither was it incredibly surprising once she really thought about it. She felt bad for Mark, though. It was one thing to have a girlfriend leave you for another guy. She could not imagine what it would be like to have a girlfriend leave you for a woman. That just seemed…well, she could not decide which scenario was worse, to tell the truth.

"What about April and Roger? Are they still together? Not to sound petulant, but please tell me he dumped her. At least tell me they have no kids," she implored.

Benny pursed his lips, his expression darkening.

"What?" she asked obliviously.

"Regan, I'm not sure how to tell you this," he began slowly. He took a deep breath and looked her dead in the eyes. "April committed suicide about six months after you left. She slit her wrists in the bathtub of our loft. Roger and Mark found her, but they were too late to save her. She was already dead."

Now it was Regan's turn to gape in open-mouthed shock as she tried to process this information. She stared, speechless, at Benny's somber face, willing him to say that it was not true. She may not have liked April, but she certainly never wished her dead, especially not like that. When a denial was not forthcoming, she looked away from Benny, eking out one pathetic breath from her still open mouth, but no words. She covered her hand with her mouth, closing her eyes as tears burned the backs of closed eyelids. The tears she would not allow to fall—especially in front of another person—were not just for April, but for Roger as well. She knew that her brother had loved April, and to lose her like he had was, in some ways, worse than dying that way in the first place. Not to mention, he had been the one to find her—aside from Mark, of course.

_Oh God, I am such a horrible person. Here I was thinking all those terrible things about her and still hating her and she's been dead for two-and-a-half years. Jesus, what is wrong with me? _

"Regan?" Benny asked in concern. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head, not trusting herself enough to remove her hand from her mouth. She had her head tilted back to prevent tears from flowing down her face; hoping gravity would keep them inside the ducts where they belonged. When she felt it was safe enough to speak, she took her hand away, but kept her eyes firmly closed.

"Oh my God…Roger," she murmured.

_I hadn't been there for him. He had to deal with this alone. No, not alone, he had all of them. He had Mark. Mark has always been there. Unlike me. I'm such a crappy sister. He gave up so much to take care of me and this is how I repay him. I don't deserve to see him again. _

"Regan?" Benny asked again.

She waved her hand at him to tell him she was not yet ready to resume conversation. She was breathing in slow, deep breaths in an attempt to stave off the crying. She really hated crying in front of people. It felt almost like she was exhibiting weakness, although she knew it was perfectly natural. This was why she typically watched tearjerkers alone, especially if she was at the time of the month when she was more prone to crying.

Benny was well aware of Regan's views on crying in public, or in front of others in general. It was a characteristic he tended to share, along with her brother. But he also knew that there were times when it was best to let it all out at once than bottle it up for later. He rubbed her back as she trembled from the urge she was fighting to suppress. It looked to be a losing battle on her end. Benny sighed sympathetically, for he knew that if the last piece of news were enough to tug at those tough heartstrings of Regan's, she would have no chance at staving off the tears for the next bit.

He sighed when he heard Regan finally give up as she let out a small sob. She buried her head in her hands and rested them on her knees, completely shielding her face from view. He continued to rub her back as she shook from her sobs. Benny was smart enough to know most of her grief was on behalf of Roger, for her feelings about April had been no secret. She was more than likely feeling the guilt of not being there to comfort him, or the guilt of being the first to cause him grief that was only exacerbated with April's suicide. It was probably both.

"Regan," he said softly. He was willing to wait to tell her about Angel's death. No doubt she would be wailing from that one because, like everyone else in the family, she had adored Angel.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered between sobs. She lifted her head up, but her hand was still covering her eyes. "God damn it," she choked.

She stood up and started to walk across the street. Benny jumped up after her and grabbed her arm, swinging her around.

"Whoa! Where are you going?" he asked in alarm.

She sniffled. "I'm sorry. I'm just gonna go cry in the car and then maybe go home for the night. I don't think I can deal with him right now…not now," she cried. She would not meet his eyes.

"I don't think so, young lady. You are not driving in this condition. Not on New York streets," he declared sternly. He wanted to ask her when she had started driving, but decided it was rather irrelevant and it was not the time. To assure her that he was dead serious, he snatched her purse, where he suspected her keys to be.

"Hey!" she yelled indignantly. "Give that back!"

His plan failed to follow through, for he had not expected Regan to have such quick reflexes. He had barely even seen her move. It was like she had been standing there one moment and the next she was holding her purse and glaring at him. He blinked in puzzlement, for he hardly felt the purse get lifted from his grasp.

On the other hand, she was no longer crying. He quickly forgot the strange incident. Her glare eventually disappeared underneath the look of exhausted sorrow and she slowly shook her head before turning around. Benny cursed and went after her, making another grab for her arm. But she was too quick for him this time, easily sidestepping him though she could not have possibly seen his arm move.

"Regan, wait!" he exclaimed. He heard the telltale sound of a car alarm being deactivated and the doors being unlocked.

_Wow, she really has done well for herself. _

"What?" she finally said, not turning around. She stood poised at the driver door, her hand just centimeters away from the handle.

"You need to go and see him," he told her. "There's more to tell, but I think you really need to see Roger first. If you're afraid he's gonna turn you away, then don't be. He's missed you more than the rest of us combined, and he still blames himself for you leaving. It was your disappearance and April's suicide that got him to quit the drugs and head into rehab. He's clean, now, Regan. Isn't that what you want to hear? The fight you two had that night wasn't in vain…it did stick."

Regan's breath hitched in her throat as emotions unnumbered assailed her. Yes, she had waited so long to hear those words. She had wanted so badly to believe that her brother had stopped using, but she was afraid of believing because she didn't want to have her tender hopes crushed. She knew what it was like to have hope devastated, and she had no wish to revisit such territory.

She slowly turned to face Benny, no longer caring what a mess her face must be. Her red-rimmed, watery green eyes glimmered with newfound hope and joy. "Are you serious?"

"Very much so," he answered without any pretension.

She closed her eyes and let out a laugh of hysterical relief. She raised her head skywards and mouthed the words, _Thank you_. Right at that time the sounds of "Stairway to Heaven" suddenly appeared, causing Benny to jump slightly. Regan merely sniffled and dug a cell phone out of her jacket pocket.

"Ari, this is not a good time," she said to the person on the other end. Her eyes traveled to Benny before going beyond him to the building. "I'm actually here, outside the building."

Benny waited patiently for Regan to finish her conversation, though he would have liked to have known who this Ari person was.

"No, I can't…Because I just received some rather bad news. Um, April, the girlfriend I hated…yeah, her…Turns out she killed herself two-and-half-years ago and Roger was the one to find her. I mean, Mark was with him, but, ya know…Does it matter how she did it? The point is she's dead and I've done nothing but complain about her for the past three fucking years. Here I was hoping they had broken up and, hey! I got my fucking wish! Thank my lucky stars!"

Benny raised an eyebrow at Regan's self-recriminating outburst. She was really letting this eat her up. He watched in silence as Regan leaned against the car, with her phone pressed against her ear. She had gone from being angry to nearly crying again.

"I can't Ari…No, I can't…Not today…Not while knowing I wasn't there for him…Not after the way I've been…Stop it, Ari, I just can't today…Deal with it…You're in Santa Rosa for Christ's sake, what the hell are you going to do?" She pulled the phone away and gave it a murderous look before pulling it back to her ear.

_Santa Rosa? Isn't that in Argentina? How does she know a girl in Argentina? _Benny wondered these things while simultaneously wondering if Regan even remembered he was still there.

"Speaking English now? Not that it matters; I can understand just about every word you say in Spanish. That's what you get for personally tutoring me…I've already said not today, Ari…I've made my decision…No, I'm not…Oh, for fuck's sake, you are insufferable, did you know that? God, how can the girls put up with you? Bet you they're wanting me back right now…Fine! Have it your way! Just don't blame me if I end up throwing myself off the Empire State Building!" With that she flipped her phone closed and laid back against the car with her arms crossed against her chest. She looked very much like a child who has just been denied her wish.

Benny was massively confused by the entire conversation, which, considering he only heard Regan's end, was not entirely strange. _She knows a girl from Argentina and can speak Spanish. And what the hell was she talking about "the girls wanting her back"? What the hell did she do during those three years? _

Aside from the strange conversation, he really began to ponder over the vast physical changes she had undergone. Obviously she still looked a little like the sixteen-year-old girl he remembered, but she had changed so dramatically it was hard to reconcile the Regan he remembered and the Regan he was seeing now as the same person. It felt disturbing to think this, but he found her quite attractive, though only in the normal way any straight male would. Sadly, he never would have dreamt of finding the sixteen-year-old he had loved as a sister attractive as a woman. But now, he certainly did.

And it wasn't just that she was physically appealing. There was something else, something more abstract to it. She had a different presence about her. What had changed about Regan in the most dramatic way was not tangible. It was like she had undergone some massive transformation inside and out, and, the weird thing was, it was not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, her new demeanor enhanced her overall sexual appeal.

_Thank God I'm happily married or I would be in deep shit with Roger. He's already tense about my past with Mimi. How is Mark going to cope with this change?_

Mark was the only other unattached member of the group who could possibly relate to Benny's predicament. Collins, besides being gay, had always viewed Regan more as a daughter, and Benny felt that was not going to change even now. Maureen might notice. In fact, she would most likely notice, but she would definitely feel too awkward to make note of it. Regan was…Regan. She was the baby of the bohemian family; the one everyone protected and coddled as best as a bunch of starving artists could. Benny felt like he had committed sacrilege for even daring to consider Regan as sexually attractive.

He heard Regan give a resigned sigh. She stood upright, shoved her phone in her pocket, and brushed past Benny. He did a double-take in confusion.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To see my brother, where do you think?" she replied flatly.

_Well, that was weird. What did that Ari girl say to her?_

"Um, do you want me to come with you…as support?" he suggested.

Regan stopped right before the double-door and turned slightly. She smiled appreciatively at Benny but shook her head. "This is something I need to do alone."

Benny nodded in understanding. "Do you want me to wait out here?"

She shrugged. "It's up to you, but you probably have somewhere to be. A wife to go home to."

"Well, yes, but…" Benny was still worried about her.

Regan smiled reassuringly. "Go. Go have sex with your wife…or your mistress…or your pool boy. Whoever. I'll be fine."

Benny laughed, not just at her words but at the fact that it was so ridiculous that she had gone from being sad to angry to annoyed to angry again to sad again to annoyed again to this weird dry, sarcastic mood. If he had not been quite used to dealing with his wife's own volatile mood or had he not remembered how Regan had acted when she was a teenager, he might have been a little concerned.

"Okay, well, if you get the urge to jump off the Empire State Building, call me so I can talk you out of it. Although I assume that was a bluff," he said, winking at her.

"See ya later, Benny," Regan replied before entering the building.

Benny walked over to his own vehicle, deactivated the alarm and the locks, and then slid into the driver's seat. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat as if everything that had happened had exhausted him a great deal. He then cursed when he remembered that it wasn't just Roger up there in the loft. Mimi was up there, too.

_Well, too late to tell her now. Guess she'll just have to meet the new woman in Roger's life. Wonder what she'll think of her…_

* * *

Something weird was going on with the documents area. I wasn't able to upload this chapter as a new document. It kept coming up as error or it would come up as a reload page. 

So, because I am very impatient, I cheated and took an export document that has been gathering dust on my account for months and erased everything in there and copied and pasted this chapter into that document. I had to do quite a bit of editing to make this one look right, but here it is! Now I know what to do in the event uploading doesn't work. Where there's a loophole, there's a way!

To all the Mark-lovers out there, of which I am an avid member (he and Roger are my two favorite characters): He will make his grand entrance in due time. Good things come to those who wait ;-).

Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. All my silent readers are urged to drop a line, even if it's just a few words. I would greatly appreciate it!


	5. A Knock on the Door

**Chapter Five**  
**A Knock on the Door**

Between the time it took for Regan to ascend the stairs to her brother's loft and when she finally found herself standing in front of the doorway, she remembered her nightmare from the night before. It had progressed exactly like this from the moment she stepped inside the building. She had slowly approached the stairs with the same overwhelming feeling that she had just been catapulted over three and a half years into the past. Every fine, derelict detail of this place was etched into her memory, for Regan had been blessed with an oddly keen photographic memory. It had changed little since last she laid eyes upon it. It was almost like the building itself had been freeze-framed, locked in time since that cold November night.

She remembered how she had knocked on the door, jittery with a combination of nervous anticipation and dread. The door had slid open of its own accord to reveal her entire bohemian family all waiting inside for her. They had known she was coming, and they were all gathered together with bright grins of joy on their faces. They cheered in jubilation when she stepped inside, sending tears of joy, surprise, and relief streaming down her face. One by one, they each came forward to embrace her and tell her how happy they were she returned, and how much they had missed her. First Angel had hugged her. Then Collins came forward to swing her around much like Benny had done in reality just a half hour ago. Then Maureen hugged her. Then Benny. Mark had not only hugged her, he had kissed her on each cheek.

Then it was Roger's turn. Brother and sister had stood there, facing each other for an eternity it seemed before Roger stretched out his arms. Regan had eagerly leapt into that familiar embrace, sobbing and shaking with unbelievable joy.

Of course, this had been a nightmare. When it reached the point where Regan thought she could not have gotten any happier, it all went to hell, obviously. Her head had been lying on her brother's shoulder and he was rubbing her back in a comforting manner…right before morphing into vampire guise and clamping his teeth onto her exposed neck. She had screamed…and then promptly rolled off her sofa, hitting her head on the floor, thus waking her from the morbid dream.

_Seriously, you're freaking over some dream that was totally allegorical…metaphorical…whatever the hell they call it. Obviously it isn't possible because it's daylight and you met Benny outside. Jesus, grow some balls, girl. _

She was well aware of the implications of that dream in that it had been symbolic of her own internal worries and fears over reuniting with her brother. Yet, it took a few moments before she was able to shake off the emotions and memories her nightmare had evoked. Even before she had become a Slayer, bad dreams had been a common nightly visitor. They had been at their worst during the time right after her mother's death. Her memory of the day her mother was buried was scattered and hazy. She could recall only a few pieces here and there, which were disturbing enough. All Regan knew for sure was after that day, she and Roger had been on their own. However, nightmares in the months and years afterward had filled in those gaps in her memory in various, and often extremely frightening, ways.

Regan straightened herself up, shooing away the specters of the parts of her past she had no desire to revisit. She had made peace with that part of her life long ago. Had she not, she probably would have ended up killing herself. She certainly would have not been in the relatively healthy psychological condition she was in today.

Feeling as prepared as she was ever going to be, Regan rapped on the door.

* * *

Mimi looked up from the magazine she had been reading when she heard the knocks on the door. Normally, she would have let Roger answer the door, but he had just stepped into the shower. She took a few more sips of her tea before rising to answer the door. She took a few brief moments to make sure her robe was firmly tied, for she was actually quite nude underneath. The early spring weather had not yet lost its wintry bite; she, Mark, and Roger were taking advantage of the limitless supply of heat they were now entitled to. Without it, she would be bundled up to the point of a marshmallow if Roger had his way. He had gotten very paranoid and overprotective since her brush with the Reaper a few months ago. Mimi appreciated his concern. She even found it very cute and endearing. But, at times, indulging his worries made her feel like a child, and it got somewhat annoying.

Had she known she and Roger would have had such impromptu company on their day off, she would have taken the time to dress. Even Benny's visit had been a pleasant surprise…well, somewhat pleasant. He and Roger had let go of the issues between them for her sake. Still, the two men acted very cool around one another. Mark, Maureen, and Collins had warmed up to Benny in the past few months, especially since it was because of Benny that Angel had been able to receive a proper burial. And, of course, it was Benny's money that was paying for her rehab, though she had managed to argue her way back into a job as a dancer at the Cat Scratch Club. Roger had not been happy about that one, but he knew they could use the extra cash. After all, they could not hit up the ATM machine Collins had rigged all the time. They had strictly decided that was to be for emergencies only. Well, that and if they really needed liquor, which could be constituted as an emergency.

Having believed it to be Maureen, Joanne, or Collins, one can imagine the surprise on Mimi's face when she opened the door to reveal a young, dark-haired stranger. The girl looked to be in her early twenties, perhaps even as young as Mimi herself. Her pale, pretty face stared back at Mimi with an equal amount of surprise and confusion.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I think I may have gotten the wrong place," the young woman stammered apologetically. Mimi thought she detected a hint of disappointment in her voice.

It was then that Mimi noticed the girl's eyes. They were the same deep green color of her boyfriend's eyes—the eyes his younger sister had apparently also possessed. Oddly enough, they were tinged with redness and a little swollen, looking very much like the girl had been crying or had really bad allergy problems. She thought back to the old home movie she and Roger had watched only days before. An outlandish idea niggled at the outer fringes of her mind, begging for her full attention. The sane parts of her mind must have laughed it away, for it was just too bizarre to even begin to consider entirely. Still, the girl gave her an odd feeling.

"Okay, well, I'll just be going. Sorry to bother you, Ma'am," the girl said, plainly puzzled by the fact that Mimi had said nothing yet. She turned around and started walking back down the hallway towards the stairs.

Mimi watched her go while wondering about this strange sensation she was suddenly afflicted with. She shook her head in complete bafflement, easing the door shut. Halfway back to her previous activity, realization dawned on the young dancer and she gasped. She knew why that girl gave her such a weird feeling! She recognized her!

_Those eyes…that voice…that face…oh my God…it is not possible! _She instantly swung around and dashed back to the door, sliding it open and running down the hall. The girl was at the bottom of the stairs, about to disappear from sight.

"Wait!" Mimi cried out.

The girl stopped in her tracks, slowly turning to gaze questioningly at Mimi, quite possibly thinking her to be crazy. To be fair, Mimi supposed she did have some kind of desperate, mad look about her.

"Yes?" the girl asked.

Mimi took a deep breath, her eyes roving all over the girl. Though remarkably changed since the time Mark had filmed that home movie, there was no denying who that girl was. It was almost too bizarre to believe…no, it _was_ too bizarre to believe. The fact that Mimi had just learned about the girl and watched the last film she had ever been recorded in only days before now just smacked of some kind of supernatural meddling. Of course, it was probably just some random, freakish coincidence. But still…the entire situation was just plain freaky to the dancer.

"Are you Regan Davis?" she asked breathlessly.

The girl's brow furrowed, making Mimi fear for a moment that she was horribly mistaken. "Yes, that's me. But, I don't—I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Mimi let out a half-laugh, half-breath of hysterical irony, lifting both her hands to cup her mouth. She allowed herself a few moments to absorb this shocking information. Regan Davis, the very same Regan Davis her boyfriend had been mourning over for years was standing before her, alive and looking…

_Damn, she definitely did some developing over the past three years. _

"You don't know me, but I know you…I mean, I don't _know _you know you, but I know of you…I mean, God," Mimi rapidly intoned before catching herself and slowing down. "I've seen you in home movies. Your sixteenth birthday party actually."

The girl—no, _Regan_—blinked with the same frozen frown of confusion on her face. It took a few moments before she seemed to understand what Mimi was talking about.

"You watched home movies of _me_? Where did you get them?" Regan asked suspiciously.

_You moron, Mimi, you should have told her who you were first._

Mimi smiled nervously. "Well, I live with Roger and Mark in the loft. My name is Mimi Marquez and I'm…well…I'm your brother's girlfriend."

Regan seemed a bit taken aback at the news, but she seemed to relax all of a sudden. She pursed her lips, appearing to be in deep thought, before coming back up the stairs and approaching Mimi. With a genuine smile upon her face, Regan held a hand out to Mimi, saying, "Nice to meet you, Mimi."

The way she held her herself struck Mimi as incredibly strange for a girl who had been God only knew where for the past three years. She had entertained all sorts of possible stories for what had happened to Regan and where she was, had she been alive. Most, unfortunately, had been of overwhelmingly sad possibilities since the odds had definitely been nowhere near the girl's favor. But, by some twist of fortune, Regan had defied those odds and was here, dressed in moderately expensive clothing, looking like she had not only survived whatever ordeal she had gone through, but that she had also come out all the better for it.

With those intriguing thoughts on her mind, Mimi shook Regan's hand, saying to her, "You too."

* * *

Most people use their 18th birthday as a time to formally take up smoking (as opposed to the informal way they had done it while underage). Regan, ironically, had chosen to kick the habit on her 18th birthday, smoking her last cigarette on midnight of January 29, 2004. And since then she had kept to her vow no matter how much the cravings had tortured her.

Until now, that is.

She had sat down on the sofa in the loft, tapping her leg nervously while she and Mimi waited for her brother to get out of the shower. (She was glad to see that Roger's habit of taking twice as long as a teenage girl in the bathroom had not gone away.) Mimi had offered her something to drink, but since none of the options had a fair amount of liquor in them, Regan thanked her but took nothing.

Then Mimi lit a cigarette and took a long, slow drag.

Normally, this would have not bothered Regan in the slightest. She had gotten over the cravings a long time ago. However, the situation she was currently in had loaded an undue amount of stress into her system. She was practically about to burst at the seams with nerves that she couldn't even carry on a conversation with her brother's girlfriend. Mimi, for her part, seemed just as much at a loss of what to say as Regan, which accounted for the uncomfortable silence in the room between the two women.

Regan first focused on what was the same about the loft and what was different. The furniture was basically the same since she and Roger had first lived here. Things were arranged differently and there were some items she did not recognize, but mostly things had stayed the same. She smiled faintly at the guitar propped against the window although she could tell it was not the same guitar that he had owned when she was here. At least it appeared he had not given up his passion for music. Music was a major part of her brother's life, or, at least it had been. For all she knew, he just kept that thing as an exalted relic to his past.

She heard Mimi take another puff on her cigarette. Damn those sharp Slayer ears!

"This is…I don't even know how to put it," Mimi ventured.

Regan smiled sardonically. "Surreal seems to be the chief term I've been using to describe my day."

Mimi nodded her head, taking another puff. "Yeah, surreal. That works."

Regan took this time to size up this new lady who had caught her brother's affections. Clearly, Regan had no pre-conceived notion of her being the chief holder of the spotlight in her brother's life. She had forfeited that position years ago. Therefore, she had no right to feel jealous of this Latin beauty. And she wasn't jealous. In fact, Regan was pleased Roger had found someone, _especially_ after learning what had happened to April.

"So…so, how long have you and Roger been together?" Regan queried.

Mimi stretched and yawned while she figured up the dates in her head. "About one year and three months almost. We got together Christmas of '04."

Regan nodded in approval. "Cool."

_Hmmm. He must be serious about this girl. April never moved in with us. Well, that may have been partly my fault._

Yet another puff on the cigarette reached Regan's ears. She clenched her teeth, angrily ordering her traitorous body to stop craving the cigarette. That was rather stupid since it was most likely a psychological craving rather than a physical one. After mentally arguing with herself, she finally decided one little cigarette wouldn't hurt anything. If anything, it would calm her down, give her a nice focal point. She needed that now more than anything.

_It's only one…after that, no more._

"Um, Mimi?" Regan asked tentatively.

"Yeah?" Mimi replied.

Regan sighed in resignation, holding out her hand. "If you have anymore cigarettes, I could really use one right about now, if that's okay."

"Oh, okay," Mimi said. She clearly had not been expecting a request like that.

Mimi crushed her cigarette in the ashtray on the table and pulled another cigarette out of the pack and walked over to the sofa. When Regan took the cigarette Mimi held out a lighter. Once it was lit, Regan took the most drawn out drag Mimi had ever seen. When she exhaled a stream of smoke, she leaned back against the sofa, her head tilted back. She started to chuckle a little.

"God, two years I went without these cancer sticks," Regan said wryly. She shrugged in defeat, quirking an ironic smile in Mimi's direction. "My best friend was always telling me to quit because there were way cooler ways to die."

Before Mimi could even edge in a reply, the two women heard a door creak open. Both of their heads whipped towards the bathroom to see Roger emerging, his hair still damp and stringy.

He was not even looking up when he said, "Babe, we're almost out of shampoo."

Regan stared, completely frozen in place; her lit cigarette was perched between her fingertips and only centimeters away from her mouth. She was barely even breathing as she looked upon the man she had not seen for over three years. She imagined the building could have suddenly collapsed or gone up in flames all around her and she would not have been able to make herself move.

"Ah, Roger…" Mimi began hesitantly, her gaze flitting from Regan to her boyfriend repeatedly.

"Yeah?" Roger asked, looking up. He frowned when he noticed a girl he apparently did not recognize beside his girlfriend.

She hadn't meant to do it. It was like there was some kind of cosmic force controlling her at the moment. Regan actually met his gaze, telling him with her eyes what she was currently unable to with her voice. She nodded without knowing particularly why she was nodding, but never took her eyes away from his magnetic eyes that stared into hers almost blankly. She saw flickers of something, flickers of what could be confusion, or what could be the flickers of recognition.

Mimi merely stood aside, still glancing nervously between the two, wishing she could do something to make this situation any less awkward than it already was. When she saw the realization materialize on his face, she took a deep breath and pulled further away from Regan, allowing the girl to be the only thing in his line of vision. Of course, she had the ulterior motive of just feeling extremely uncomfortable.

_Man, I really wish we had bought some liquor. Everyone's gonna need it by the end of the day._

* * *

Okay, I'm off to go hide out for a while because I'm quite sure a few of you will want to kill me for that. It's okay to admit it because I would probably want to kill me for that, too. 


	6. Realistic Illusions

**Chapter Six  
Realistic Illusions**

"Ah, Roger…" his girlfriend had said in a strange tone of voice. It sounded almost like she was trying to warn him of something.

He had looked up while asking, "Yeah?"

Roger had not expected to see a young woman who was not either Joanne or Maureen sitting on the sofa. The only other woman remotely close to their circle would be Alison, Benny's wife. But she hardly fraternized with them, though her husband had begun to slowly come around. This young woman—at first—was a complete and total stranger to him.

She was pretty, with a fair, radiant complexion, long dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and bright green eyes accentuated with eyeliner, eye shadow, and mascara. She looked fairly young, perhaps around Mimi's age of twenty or so. A faint sense of dèjá vu had enfolded him when he first glanced upon the girl, but it was lukewarm at best. Frankly, he really couldn't place the girl.

Until they locked gazes.

When her green eyes locked onto his, he felt all the breath leave his body in a single instant. His expression froze on his face so that it did not even reflect the shocking emotions now coursing through his system. Awareness of everything else including his girlfriend fell away into some remote background. The only thing he could see was the girl, that suddenly very familiar girl with those haunting green eyes, eyes he had not looked upon for over three years…

_It can't be…This is some kind of an illusion. She can't be…_

"Regan?" The name was barely a whisper, but the word held more meaning and emotion than any audible declaration could ever possess.

Had he relapsed back into using? Was he now under the influence of far more hallucinogenic drugs than heroin had been? Or had he perhaps fallen in the shower and hit his head? Was he unconscious on his bathroom floor and sinking further and further into this tantalizing dream world? He wanted to believe this was all real, but fear held him back from taking that critical step. For years he had hoped in vain that his sweet baby sister would be returned to him. Now, when he was standing only six or seven feet away from her, he just couldn't make his disbelieving mind latch onto the possibility. He was too afraid of his tenuous grasp on hope and sanity being severed forever. Because if this turned out to be one fantastic illusion, he was quite sure he would lose his mind.

"Roger?" the girl asked. She slowly stood up. The movement somehow broke the strange spell of immobility over Roger.

"Regan? God, I must be crazy," he stammered. "Is it really you?"

He shot a glance over towards Mimi, who nodded affirmatively, assuring him that he was, indeed, seeing what he thought he was seeing. Her dark eyes flitted back to his sister and then to him. A knowing smile formed on her face. That was the only assurance he needed. He let out a deep sigh of relief and tension, crossing the few feet separating him from his sister in two huge strides and engulfing the girl in his arms.

_Damn it, I'm crying again and I don't even care,_ Regan thought to herself as she buried her face in her brother's chest. She could barely even hear what he was saying over the din of her own sobs. Years of worry, anger, resentment, and a whole cavalcade of horrible emotions and feelings that had plagued her since the night she left home dissipated on contact with the person she loved most. All that remained now was a feeling of completeness, a sense of true contentment. All this worry about reuniting with her family, most especially Roger, had been hanging over her head for so long. With that worry gone, she felt like no door was closed to her now.

"Ow, Regan! I can't breathe!" Roger gasped. His wet green eyes grew wide with surprise at his sister's unpredictably strong grip.

"Oh!" Regan exclaimed. She released her brother from her deathly tight embrace, chiding herself for not curbing her strength. She would definitely have to be more careful in the future. She certainly did not want to have to explain herself if they ever figured out that she was unusually strong for a twenty-year-old female. The time for that would come, but, for now, she wanted to keep that off the table.

She smiled through the tears of pure joy that were flowing freely down her cheeks. Her makeup was probably ruined beyond repair, she figured. She felt an upwelling of strange impulses, like laughing and jumping around as if she were on top of the world. Regan could honestly not remember feeling this elated in her entire life. She knew she had been pretty happy when she had realized she had survived the Sunnydale battle, but that incident had absolutely nothing on this reunion with her brother. All the grief she had been feeling moments before after learning of her brother's loss and how she had not been there to comfort him through it, it was all pushed back into the forgotten recesses of her mind. For now, she was only entertaining emotions that brought on euphoria.

Roger was studying her intently, drinking in the sight of his grown up sister. "Look at you! You've gone and grown up on me, sis!" he mock scolded.  
"Eh, just a few inches," Regan admitted, though she was beaming proudly. She quirked an eyebrow at her brother. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's changed." She reached up to run her fingers through his damp hair. She smiled approvingly. Before, she would have never thought the longhair look would have looked well on him. However, after seeing it, she decided her opinion could be reshaped.

She looked back up into his eyes again. Beyond the glowing joy she could see in them, she noticed that his eyes looked far older than they should. She frowned slightly when her Slayer senses picked up on some deeper, intangible changes that her brother had undergone. Though on the outside he looked youthful and healthy, she sensed some troubling inner turmoil broiling deep beneath his calm exterior. Something was drastically different about Roger, and this was something that went beyond grief and age.

This unnamable change gave Regan a queasy feeling in her stomach. She knew her brother better than anyone, or, she used to know him better than anyone. The only other one that could give her a run for her money would be Mark. However, with this super-empowered intuition Fate had bestowed her with, she was able to probe deeper into those with whom she had an intimate connection. As of right now, she was rather wishing she didn't have this particular gift.

Roger's brow furrowed when he saw the dazed, troubled look on his sister's face. "Regan, are you okay?"

For a moment, it appeared that she hadn't heard him. Soon enough, though, she shook her head and gave him a confident smile. "I'm fine. I'm better than fine."

Roger grabbed his sister's hands and squeezed them both. His mind was still straining to wrap itself around this entire situation. That she was standing before him in perfect health—actually looking better than when he had last seen her—was beyond astounding to him. The manner in which she was dressed implied she was making a decent living. How had she managed to survive on her own let alone bring herself up to a higher station than she had been born into? He had known she was resourceful and smart, but to make something of herself out of virtually nothing was not something he had ever pictured. It was truly a miracle to him that she was alive at all.

"God, Regan," he intoned, pulling her close. He closed his eyes while more tears trailed pathways down his cheeks. "I thought I would never see you again."

"I'm so sorry, Roger," she whispered. "For all I've put you through. I never meant to…"

"Shhh," Roger interjected. "I don't care about that right now. And I'm the one who should be sorry. I should've never said those things to you. It was all my fault."

"No, it wasn't," she said, pulling away and looking him in the eyes. She laid a hand on each side of his face. "It wasn't your fault. It was the drugs. You weren't you that night, and I should've known that then. I shouldn't have been such a stubborn coward."

Roger's eyes widened when he remembered all that had changed, especially in regards to the drugs. "Regan, there's so much I have to tell you."

Regan nodded, smiling knowingly. "I ran into an old friend on my way in. He beat you to the punch."

Roger was confused for a moment until he remembered that Benny had visited that morning as well. He sighed and led Regan back to the sofa. He sat down, feeling much like a balloon that has been deflated. All his euphoric joy from before was beginning to dissolve from the grim news he knew was coming next.

"So, you saw Benny?" When she nodded, he sighed. "What did he tell you?"

"That you went into rehab. That you were clean," she said, her tone laced with emotion. "You have no idea how wonderful it was to hear that, Roger. I'm so proud of you. I knew you could beat the drugs."

Roger smiled faintly with gratitude, although he didn't quite share his sister's feelings. He couldn't exactly feel proud of himself for being seduced by drugs in the first place. Drugs had ruined his life, leaving him to try and salvage a new life from the pieces. He had managed to make a pretty good life for himself now that he was back on track. But the price he paid for would ultimately spell the end for him. How would Regan take it when he told her he had HIV? He assumed that Benny was smart enough to keep that personal issue secret.

"He also told me…" Regan took a deep breath. Her countenance became more noticeable somber. Roger felt a surge of alarm. Had Benny told her about his condition? "I'm so sorry, Roger…about April. I couldn't believe it when I heard it. It must have been horrible. I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

Roger would have sighed in relief had not his sister been sitting right beside him. As it were, he averted his eyes from her gaze and nodded. "It's okay. I've let it all go."

Regan tried to smile, but she instead she drew in another deep, tremulous breath that warned of weeping soon to come. Roger put an arm around her shoulders and tried to assure he that he didn't fault her for not being there or for April's suicide. "Regan, it's all right. It was probably better for you that you weren't there. I'm told I was a complete bastard after that. Apparently, withdrawal and grief don't go well together."

That inspired a smile from the forlorn girl, though she tried to hide it under her solemn façade. Roger wondered if she had been told about Angel's death. Judging from the complete absence of grief and, for that matter, remarks or questions in regards to it, she probably still did not know about it. It was easy to predict how she would react to that news, for she had idolized Angel when she was younger.

_Didn't we all?_

Should I tell her? Or should I let Tom be the one to break that news? Has she even seen the rest of the group yet? I am her brother, so I should be the first one. I mean, she ran into Benny by accident.

Brushing away the disconcerting thoughts of being a bearer of bad tidings, Roger decided he wanted no more pain or grief to taint this reunion. He wiped some of the strands of Regan's hair that had gone array out of her face. Roger could not help but marvel at the immense amount of physical change she had undergone. She was still his sister, but she was no longer a gawky, teenage girl. She was now a confident, beautiful young woman. He felt himself swell with pride.

"You look great, Regan," he remarked. "You're beautiful."

"Thanks," Regan said. "I like the hair…yours, I mean. It's not a bad look for you."

Roger laughed.

"You should see it when it's dry and tangled," Mimi piped up from over in the kitchen. After spending so long trying to act like she wasn't there while simultaneously not wanting to leave, she finally felt like it was safe for her to remind them of her presence. Brother and sister both turned their identical green gazes to the young woman, looking much like they _had_ forgotten she was still in the room. She smiled ironically and waved at the pair.

"Meems, come on over here," Roger said, beckoning her over.

Mimi was only too happy to comply and fairly relieved that the awkward tension seemed to have worn out its welcome. She had briefly considered leaving the room and taking sanctuary in the bedroom, but the stuff going on out here was far too interesting to miss. She would have been forced to listen at the door, which would have just ruined the entire moment. Besides, they seemed to do fine with her here. And she might as well had _not_ been there for all the attention they gave her. Of course, she could understand that little sister who has not been seen nor heard from in over three years would trump live-in girlfriend of a little over a year.

"I would give you both a proper introduction, but I guess you two have already met," Roger remarked with a sardonic smile on his face. He pulled Mimi down onto his lap and nuzzled her neck.

"Yeah," Regan said, smiling at the couple. "Mimi actually recognized me. Apparently you've been showing her movies of me."

"I almost didn't recognize her. I almost let her walk away. Damn good thing you showed me that movie, Roger," Mimi pointed out.

"Yeah," Roger mused. He looked back at Regan, remembering again how different she looked. "So, you gonna tell me what happened to you and where've you been these past three years…or am I going to have to guess?"

Regan grimaced, causing Roger and Mimi to frown in worry and confusion. The last thing Roger wanted to do here was jump to any outrageous conclusions. The problem with that was that the normal conclusions were not making any kind of valid sense to him, and he could not fathom any explainable "outrageous" conclusions. He literally could not come up with any kind of explanation to account for what had happened to his sister, why she had kept out of contact for so long, and why she appeared to be doing so well for herself. The only one who could answer those burning questions was Regan…and she was not looking to be particularly forthcoming at the moment. This scared him a little.

"Roger…" Regan began after much inner debating. "There is nothing I would love more than to tell you everything. But I can't right now. I mean…there is so much more to it than just telling you where I was and what happened. It's extremely complicated." She winced at how completely ridiculous she must sound, but she could think of nothing else to say. "On second thought, it's beyond complicated. It's…well, I can't really think of a word right now, but whatever it is…it's that."

_Christ, I sound like a complete moron who's failed English. Hey, I actually did fail tenth grade English. But that was only because I was lazy._

"What?" Roger asked, looking very baffled.

Regan took a deep breath. "Let me reword that. I will tell you the whole saga of my life of the past three years, but you gotta trust me when I say you are not ready to learn this stuff right now."

"Why not?" Roger queried, his brow wrinkled with frown lines.

"Because," Regan replied in a voice that sounded almost like a whine. "It's like you know how they say, 'Truth is stranger than fiction'?"

"Yeah," Roger said.

"My story's kind of like that," Regan told him.

Mimi stared at the girl as if she had suddenly sprouted two heads. She should have suspected something weird was behind this whole event. She exchanged a brief glance with her boyfriend, who looked just as clueless as she. Though Roger looked to be more disappointed than anything. She couldn't really blame him. If Regan had been her sister, she would definitely want some kind of bone to be thrown her way. By Mimi's thinking, a girl can't just go missing for three years and them come back without a good explanation. Of course, there might be forces here at work greater than the three of them. Maybe Regan wasn't talking because she couldn't…maybe she would be punished for talking!

_Okay, that's it. You are not reading anymore of Mark's old screenplays before bedtime. They give you way too many crazy ideas_, Mimi chastised herself.

Roger took a few moments to come to terms with the fact that Regan's explanation was being withheld for some indefinite amount of time. He had no idea what he could possibly not be ready to learn. But, if that was what his sister wanted, he didn't feel like he should push her to talk. He did not need a repeat of their last meeting.

"Okay," Roger conceded. "If that's what you want…I'll be patient. The only thing that matters is that you're back. You're home."

Regan let out a sigh of relief, grabbing her brother's hand. "Yeah, I am home."

* * *

Come on, you guys didn't think I'd leave you hanging for long, now, did you? You're all lucky I had the day off school today. I'll have you know, I could have been typing up scholarship essays, but I decided to crank out this chapter. Hope you enjoyed!

Remember: more reviews equals happy captain which equals more creativity which equals quicker updates. If you've managed to scramble through that verbose equation, it means I want you to REVIEW!

Next chapter ought to please a few of my readers because we finally edge in some Slayer action! Well, that's my plan, who knows what the muse will say about it.


	7. Mother, Mother, Can You Hear Me?

**Mother, Mother, Can You Hear Me?**

This is for all the women in my family—my mother, my aunts, and my grandmothers, in particular. And to all the mothers, grandmothers, and hell, all the women who pretty much are moms in everything but name! Happy Mother's Day! I love you, Mom!

* * *

Regan had never liked cemeteries. Ever since she was a child, the final resting places of the dead had always frightened her. Whenever she would pass by one as a child, accompanied by either her mother or Roger, she had always walked round to the other side of them and squeezed their hands tightly. The ones with the huge statues and monuments always seemed to intimidate her the most. Those ominous alabaster memorials to the deceased used to send shivers up and down her tiny spine. When she got older, her fear had diluted enough that she could walk by them alone. But some instinctive urge within her would cause her to unconsciously quicken her pace and keep her line of vision in front of her. The one time she had spent more than a few minutes inside a cemetery had been for her mother's funeral. However, because of the gloomy circumstances, numb grief had edged out her fears during the whole ceremony. 

At twenty, only remnants of her childhood phobia remained. Becoming a Slayer and having to spend a great deal of her time among the deceased and the deceased who were still walking the Earth had forced her to overcome her hesitation about stepping foot in graveyards at night. Still, though, Regan felt a shimmer of trepidation whenever she walked near a cemetery; it was quick to pass, so that she hardly noticed it, but it was there. Back in Santa Rosa, the chief enemies had been demons. She had been surprised how few vampires thrived on that Hellmouth compared to the staggering statistics of Sunnydale. As it were, there were fewer occasions to visit cemeteries. Demons normally liked to inhabit other places. When she remembered the state of some of those "other places" she probably would have preferred them to have set up shop in a graveyard.

She tightened her grip on the bouquet of carnations she had in her hand while the all-too-familiar wave of apprehension came upon her and then passed without a trace. She proceeded forward, her sharp green eyes darting around the place. Out of habit, she scoped the place for possible enemies, for freshly dug graves that could produce a newly risen vampire. However, this cemetery looked as if no one had been buried here for a few years. The odds of finding a vampire were rather slim. She was not surprised to feel a small surge of disappointment at the thought. Regan had not sated her thirst for the adrenaline rush of the hunt in over a week now.

Slayers were governed by an instinctive urge to hunt to such a degree that it could become physically discomforting to not succumb to the predatory whim. All that pent up energy needed to be released somehow after building up over a while. It was like coiled spring that has been compressed into a tiny size, storing up potential energy. Sooner or later that potential energy will go kinetic, and there's no telling what kind of damage it can do if released in an erroneous manner.

It was different for all Slayers. Some of them were so detached from their own intuitions that they felt no such compunction. Some were able to exercise a certain amount of self-control and thus deal with their impulses accordingly. Then there were others like Regan who had relied solely on instinct for the better part of their lives even before becoming a Slayer. Regan was very in tune to her body's urges, but, for the most part, she was able to ignore them at will. However, if she kept this behavior up for long enough, she too would start to get restless and fidgety. All in all, Regan usually never went very long without at least pummeling one vampire or demon. Santa Rosa certainly had no shortage of them. In fact, this was probably the longest she had ever gone without patrolling in the three years she had been a Slayer.

She would take care of hunting later. Right now, more important issues needed to be tended to. She had not been inside this cemetery for five years—or maybe even longer. She honestly could not remember the date or how old she had been when she had last come here. That enough was evident that she had neglected her daughterly duties, had neglected her mother's memory. She wondered if Roger had visited in the last three years of her absence. She hoped he would have come here at least once, but, then again, he had been pretty distracted by his own problems. So, the odds were looking pretty slim that there were molding flowers or at least some sort of remains of a token of remembrance.

However long it might have been since she had come here, her memory of the layout of the cemetery and the location of her mother's grave was far from stale. She deftly wended her way through the tombstones and simple grave markers. She stopped in front of a small tombstone that had very few characters engraved into its stony surface. Once upon a time she might have been compelled to cry over the sight of her mother's grave. Years had eroded away the raw grief, leaving behind a small ache that manifested every so often. Instead, she felt a solemn sense of quiet, like this moment was just too pure to ruin with sound. It almost felt like the raucous sounds of New York City had receded completely into the background. When she really thought about it, cemeteries did have a morbid sort of charm to them. They were peaceful, almost untouchable to the outside world. The dead lay within their own small world of frozen angels and gray stone tablets. Nature herself seemed to have a degree of respect for the deceased.

Regan took a deep breath before speaking. Though she was the only one there, she kept her voice very low, almost to a whisper. "Hey, Mom. Took me long enough, didn't it?"

The young woman slowly knelt before the simple tombstone, her eyes glazing over the familiar and slightly worn words: _Aimee Nicole Davis…June 18, 1961-July 25, 1998. _There was no epitaph, for they had not been able to afford one. She sighed and gently lay the bouquet right along the bottom of the stone, then reached up to trace her mother's name. There had been a time, a time so long ago it seemed, that her father used to call her mother Nikky in playful endearment. It was before her father changed, before he let his anger control him instead of the other way around. Untapped reserves of resent started to flare up before Regan put them out. What use was it to carry anger and hate around when her mother was long gone and her father had not been heard from in almost eight years? Of course, this was what logic told her. Her heart sometimes forgot to use logic.

"Well, here I am. Finally. Only took me three years to come back. I guess that's what happens when you're off saving the world and killing demons," Regan intoned dryly. As clichéd as it might appear, Regan did not hold back when it came to making conversation with someone who obviously would not talk back.

"I'm so sorry, Mom. I should have visited more when I was here…Christ, it's been like five years since I've come to visit," she said apologetically. She snorted sardonically and quipped, "Been here only five minutes and I've already broken one of your rules: taking the Lord's name in vain on holy ground. Sorry."

She was silent for a while, trying and failing to come up with any words to convey how mixed up she had been for the past few years. Her life had changed so dramatically that she hardly recognized herself when she looked in the mirror. How in the world was she going to bring this up with Roger? She wanted to tell him first, in private, if at all possible. He had been so unbelievably understanding when she had asked him to wait for an explanation. That only made it even more clear how much she owed him one. He deserved better than this, better than three years of struggling through grief, drugs, and withdrawal without his only sister by his side. She knew she had better come up with something soon.

She hung her head. "How am I going to explain everything to Roger? I mean, I could physically demonstrate it to him, but…I don't know. I don't want to put him in danger just to prove something. And there's Mark and Collins and Maureen and Benny and Angel." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Jesus, I thought I got rid of most of my anxieties this morning, but now I'm back to feeling very overwhelmed. I knew this wasn't going to be easy."

Regan could have called Ari and unloaded all her fears on someone who would actually give feedback. But Regan didn't particularly feel like being given advice for this situation. She knew that, in the end, talking with her friend would only end up making her fret over it more. Besides, it had been a real long time since she had spoken to her mother. For once, all she wanted to do was talk, even if there was only an illusion of someone being there to listen. She had never actually had a decent conversation with her mother when she had been alive. Her mother was always working, sleeping, or drowning in the waves of liquor. There were few true mother-daughter moments to be found in Regan's childhood, and she had to search really hard to find them. It was strange how Regan harbored no anger or resentment towards her mother for not trying harder, for not defying her father for Regan and Roger's sakes. Her mother's naturally subservient disposition had made it almost impossible for her to garner enough strength to fight back. In the end, it appeared her very nature was to be her death. If she had been of a more headstrong character, perhaps she would not have turned to the bottle for solace.

Her mother's undeniable flaws notwithstanding, she and Roger had loved her very much. Roger had done his best to protect her, to shield her from their father's temper (to the point of putting himself between them and physically striking back). But it got to the point where Roger had been left with two choices: protect his mother while knowing her inevitable fate or do what he could to save Regan from a similar fate. Regan would never know how much emotional pain Roger had suffered when he had realized he had to make an agonizing decision, when he realized he had to choose between her or their mother or lose both of them. All she could remember was the night their mother had been put in the hospital for the last time, he had come out of the room where their mother was and told her he was going to take care of her from then on. This was, of course, in spite of the fact that he had been taking care of her all along.

"You'd be so proud of him, Mom. He's clean from the drugs, got a pretty new girlfriend, and he's even got a job at little music shop. And he's talking about starting up another band soon, but he's not so sure. He hasn't talked with his old band mates in years, I'm told," Regan gushed, sounding exactly like she would had she been literally speaking with someone rather than to a grave.

"And tomorrow evening I get to see them all. Roger and Mimi are going to arrange for everyone to come to the Life Café," Regan reported in a tone that was distinctly more anxious than only moments before.

It had been Mimi's idea for Regan to reunite with the rest of the family all at once. The Life Café was still a notable hotspot for hungry bohemians (though the food left a lot to be desired). Roger had told her to show up around 5:30, assuring her that everyone would be there, including Maureen's new girlfriend Joanne. This left Regan almost an entire day's worth of jittery nerves and even more irrational fears to plague her mind and sleep. When Regan left her brother's place, she had sat at in her rental car mulling over the situation. She was surprised how little Roger and Mimi spoke of Mark, Maureen, Angel, and Collins. (She wondered if Benny was to be invited, which she was hoping for.) Her brief encounter with Benny outside the loft had been replayed in Regan's mind as she searched for some subtle hints he may have dropped as to the well-being of everyone else. He had said to her that so many things had changed, and he had only gone over a few of those. She wondered if he had purposely left out any mention of Mimi, or if he had simply forgotten. That was a little matter though. Regan had the strangest feeling, a tingling foreboding almost, that there were far more changes that had been glazed over.

On the one hand, it no longer looked as if Collins was living with Roger and Mark. Roger did tell her he was working as a teacher at the university, which was fantastic news. Mark was working for Buzzline. That was hilarious, ironic, and somewhat disturbing all at once to Regan. She knew the nascent filmmaker had always loathed Buzzline, calling it the "dirty gossip reel of the rich and famous saps". They must have gotten desperate for Mark to take a job with a company he had always held such disdain for. Knowing this made her feel slightly guilty, for she had been living a life of luxury compared to her bohemian family. As a top-ranking Slayer, she made enough money to support a family of at least six at upper-middle class status. Since she had no others to support, a lot of money just dozed away in her personal account.

"At least now I can help them out financially…if they would let me," Regan mused out loud.

She rose to her feet and brushed the dirt off her knees. Her eyes drifted to the bundle of carnations lying on the ground, so deeply contrasting to the dark background with their pure white radiance. She drew in a deep breath and pressed her fingers to her lips, lightly kissing them and then blowing the kiss from her palm.

"Sweet dreams, Mommy," she whispered. And then she turned around and left.

* * *

New York City at night could be a mesmerizing spectacle, a colorful array of flashing lights and images upon animated billboards. The city was alive and thriving at all hours of the day, perhaps even more so at night. Young people spilled onto the streets to take advantage of the countless numbers of clubs and bars to fulfill their pleasure-seeking wiles. With so much young—and rather inebriated—blood around, it was a veritable buffet for opportunistic vampires. They blended easily into the crowds of modern hedonists—mostly because they had been one of those hedonists when they were humans. It was terribly simple to lure an unsuspecting young man or woman from their dancing into an isolated, darkened alleyway. A vampire merely had to act as if they were stealing them away for a little midnight tryst. Slayers had caught on to many of the tricks the undead employed to ensnare prey, and they exploited it to the fullest extent. They played the parts of the simple-minded party girls who only had thoughts of drinking, dancing, and sex on their minds. A vampire would believe he was drawing a potential snack into his trap when he in fact was being drawn into a trap. 

Regan was not accustomed so such hunting methods. Santa Rosa had been a demon hotspot, and they certainly did little mingling with humans in the same fashion vampires did. Not many demons had the benefits of looking human-like as vampires did, and not every demon possessed the ability to shift their appearance to look human. The hunting styles Slayers in Santa Rosa had formed were more military style. They had to track their targets, scout out possible hideouts and locations, do reconnaissance missions—and most of the hunting was done in the woods where trees and shrubbery could be a double-edged sword. They could provide cover for the girls, but they could also provide cover for the enemy. The upside to these situations was that there was less risk of innocent bystanders being caught in the crossfire, or of expensive collateral damage. Moreover, the residents of Santa Rosa were used to young women and girls walking around with swords strapped to their hips or crossbows hanging on their shoulders. In New York—in all the big cities—innocent bystanders were literally everywhere, and collateral damage was a constant concern. And the Slayers here had to be far more discreet in public. A girl could not just go around lugging a broadsword slung over her shoulder like Regan and her former squad mates had occasionally done in Santa Rosa.

Regan noted all of these things as she watched a few girls she knew as Slayers walk casually into a club. They were all dressed like they were ready for a night out on the town, but she also knew they were armed to the teeth underneath the leather outfits (and no doubt a few glamour spells). She didn't really need to recognize the girls on sight to know they were Slayers. She had sensed them before she even saw them, and she was betting they had sensed her as well. She often wondered if vampires and demons were ever able to sense them, and if they, like Slayers, were almost instinctively drawn and repelled at the same time. It was said that Slayers could be quite the demon magnets, but Regan had never put that one to the test.

Not having hunted in over a week, Regan had decided she could work off a little of her built-up anxiety in the only true way a Slayer ever could (aside from sex, of course): by doing what she was made for. She flexed her fingers as she sent her senses probing through the area, tapping into the multitude of different auras exuded by the mass of people. Most were human, of course, but there were a few concentrations of darkness mixed in. A devious smile turned the corners of Regan's soft mouth upwards, and her green eyes flashed with excitement. Her blood started to thrum noisily through her veins; it was like her entire being knew what was coming next.

Her internal radar system instantly zeroed in on a target not far away from where she was standing. It was a female vampire dressed in a dark violet dress that barely brushed her mid-thighs. Her stilettos strapped to her feet looked painfully tight, and there were straps winding all the way up her slender, pale calves. She had long blonde hair that she constantly flipped from side to side, her face set into a smoldering pout of lust. There was already a troupe of drunken young male prospects eyeing her like hungry wolves, not knowing that they were being tightly drawn into the spider's web. Regan sighed in resignation, shaking her head at the drooling men.

"Men are too easy," she murmured.

She felt in her pockets to be sure she had stored a sharpened stake in there. The last thing she needed was to fumble around for a weapon, even if she was fighting an inexperienced fledgling. Not being fully prepared could be a fatal mistake in any situation, Regan had learned. She quickened her pace when she heard a shriek from the dark alley, the shadows constricting her vision until she was closer. Unsurprisingly, she came across not one, not two, but three female vampires in the process of engorging themselves on the walking, talking buffet line that had stumbled into their trap.

Though it was supposed to be some sort of a tradition with Slayers to fashion some witty pun before attacking, Regan had never really indulged that much. She often found that her mind was set on attack mode, not biting sarcasm, in battle. Oh, there were plenty of exceptions whenever the moment came upon her. Normally, however, Regan just jumped right in without any sort of verbal announcement of her presence, which was what she did now.

She moved swiftly to disengage the three vampires from their ever-weakening victims: priority number one. She kicked one vampire in the back of the knee (a very tender spot) causing the creature's knees to buckle and to lose hold of her victim. The poor fool she had been preying on yelped in surprise and pain, instinctively wrenching away from his would-be murderer. His hand instantly clasped onto his bleeding neck, and his eyes were practically bulging out his head. Regan noticed none of this at the moment, for she was busy taking care of the other two vampires, who in those few split seconds, had pulled away from their own victims at the ruckus suddenly manifesting. One of them hissed in anger, dropping her bleeding and half-unconscious victim to the ground, and lunging for Regan. Regan spun, lashing out a foot to trip the vampire, while simultaneously executing a backhanded attack on the first vampire she had downed. Quick as a flash, she pulled out her stake and rammed it into the back of one of the vampires, pulling it out, and then instantly depositing it into the back of the other one. An explosion of ashes followed; Regan accidentally inhaled a bit of the remains of her foe, causing her to gasp and cough.

_Shit. This is what happens when you fight mostly demons. They don't go all poof with toxic ash to fill up your lungs. _

She heard the first man she had rescued cry in shock and fear. "Go!" she ordered hoarsely, still coughing. He looked to be in the midst of a panic attack, grasping onto the wall for support. "Get your buddies and get the fuck out of here!" she screamed again. She wiped at her eyes, which were stinging slightly from the ash.

Ash in her eyes and lungs became the least of her problems when she was viciously waylaid from the side by the remaining vampire. She felt a sharp pain her side as she collided heavily with the wall. Luckily, she managed to keep her head from bouncing off the wall. She snapped her head forward, causing the crown of her head to smack right into the forehead of the vampire. The creature was thrown off balance, hissing acrimoniously. A Chinese snap-kick directly to the face sent the vampire sprawling completely to the ground.

Regan swore loudly when she felt warm, sticky blood soaking through her shirt at her right side. The vampire must have had a knife or dagger up her sleeve—figuratively speaking, of course, since she was wearing a strapless dress. She drew in a deep breath, pointedly ignoring the stabbing pains her new wound was generating. She slammed her boot down on the creature's neck, holding her in place. If vampires had had any need to breathe, Regan could very well have choked her to death. As it were, all she was doing was constricting her vocal cords from vibrating. All that came out of the vampire's mouth were blood and guttural snarls.

Regan breathed in deeply again, pulling up the hand that was coated with the blood from her side. She glared at the vampire. "Ow, you bitch. For that I believe I'm going to have to kill you," she declared in an amazingly flat tone of voice.

The vampire had no time to even utter a scream before Regan had removed her foot and thrust her stake right into her chest. This time she was sure to quickly pull away before the creature burst into ashes. For some reason she had never figured out, she was more sensitive to the ashes of vampires than many Slayers were. She was still coughing and gagging some from those first two vampires. That would pass quickly though. It was the wound to her side that really pissed her off. It was not a complete stab wound, more like a serious laceration that would probably require stitching if she didn't want to risk infection—which she didn't.

"Um…Miss?" came a tremulous voice.

She turned around almost dazedly to see one of the guys standing against the wall. He was sweating heavily in spite of the cool air. There was a stream of blood flowing down his neck and through the top of his shirt. Other than the fact that he was breathing fast enough to hyperventilate and the noticeable bite wound, he seemed to physically no worse for the wear. He was relatively young, probably around her brother's age. He looked like he was probably a college student who had gone out on a typical drinking night with his friends. The other one was propping up his friend against the wall and staring at Regan like she was the malformed woman that had bitten him on the neck. The other guy didn't look very well. In fact, he looked like he had promptly passed out after seeing the first two vampires turn into ashes when Regan staked them. That was not an abnormal reaction to seeing such a thing. Regan knew she had certainly felt like grabbing a wall for support the first time she had witnessed it.

"You and your friends should go. It's all right now," she assured him breathily. She kept her hand tightly clasped to her side where blood leaked through her fingers. Her body was already working above and beyond normal human function. She could practically feel the wound attempting to repair itself, although she would probably still have to get stitches.

"Wh-what the hell were they?" he stammered. His voice sounded like a young child, so innocent, confused, and scared.

"It doesn't matter. You guys should get to the hospital. Your buddy looks like he's had it tonight," she told him.

The man swallowed uncertainly. His mind was probably still having trouble wrapping itself around what he had seen tonight. The shock of what he had nearly succumbed to was not completely absorbed yet. She could tell he and his friend were trying desperately to rationalize it, though the alcohol in their system was probably exacerbating such progress. They did look rather sober by now though. Nearly being eaten can be a sobering event in Regan's experience.

She waited for them to leave first, but they stayed rooted to the spot, no doubt still caught up in registering their bizarre brushes with death. She shrugged and started to walk out of the alley herself, but stopped when one of them called out.

"Wait…you—you killed them. How did you do that?" the man who had spoken before asked. He cautiously approached Regan, as if he were afraid she would end up staking him through the heart as well.

Regan didn't answer him, but merely looked away for a moment before looking him straight in the eyes. "Just get you and your friends to a hospital. And try not to walk into any more dark alleyways at night. It's not only hazardous for the ladies, you see."

The man's eyes traveled down to where she was holding her side. She saw his forehead furrow with frown lines; his eyes flicked back up to hers with noticeable concern in them. Regan silently cursed and tried to turn around, but he grabbed her by the arm.

"You're bleeding," he remarked worriedly.

"I'm fine," she told him, trying not to sound annoyed.

"No, that's a lot of blood. I'm a fourth-year med student, trust me. I work at a hospital in the ER. You're gonna need stitches. You should come with us," he said pleadingly.

He was careful not to put too firm of a grip on her arm, Regan noticed. He must not have been as drunk as she had presumed, for he was displaying a stunning amount of alertness. He had almost immediately zoned in on her injury and it looked like he was focusing on that rather than what had happened. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair as she contemplated over a decision to make. The man must have noticed her hesitancy.

"Please?" He put on a fake pout, causing Regan to snort a little.

He smiled weakly. "I mean, it's not everyday that I'm rescued by a beautiful young woman. If I'm the damsel in distress in this equation, I should at least be the one to nurse you back to health," he pointed out.

Regan quirked an eyebrow in intrigue; her mind instantly latched onto some random thoughts. _Hmmm…cute, almost a doctor, and charming. Perhaps something could come of this. _She shooed away such thoughts when they came to mind because it was far too early to even consider such things. Besides, she had other things to worry about at the moment, namely reunited with her family for the first time in three years tomorrow evening. The last thing she needed was to complicate her life further by adding a possible romantic fling/relationship, which had never been a particular forte of hers. Her last "relationships" had been brief and based almost entirely on the sex part. She had never really had a true boyfriend in all aspects. There was also the whole risqué lifestyle of hers that was not the most conducive atmosphere for romance and commitment.

She rolled her eyes, caving under his pleading gaze. "Fine."

The man smiled in relief, his bright blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Good. I'm Nick, by the way. Nick Branaghan." He held out his hand expectantly.

Regan took his with her left hand since her right hand was smeared with her blood. "Regan. Regan Davis."

* * *

Regan had driven all three of the men to the hospital where Nick worked. It turned out Nick had been the designated driver of tonight, but Regan had insisted that with his neck wound and the fact that his car was just a tiny little coup, that he should let her drive. The man was obviously intelligent enough to know better than to argue with a woman who had hoisted up a brawny, three-hundred pound football player without any apparent effort and dragged him to her vehicle. She was grateful that he didn't comment on it and just sat quietly in the passenger seat as she helped the conscious friend in beside the one who had passed out. The conscious one's name was a black man named Rick Donson, and he was still in a state of speechless shock. He had not spoken one word at all to Regan, but continued to stare at her with wide, shiny eyes.

The one who had passed out was a linebacker named Garrett Schultz, who had apparently been the drunkest one of the trio. This was Nick's explanation for his friend's current lack of consciousness. They had checked his other vital signs to ensure that everything else was working soundly. Regan had been trained in basic first aid techniques like all Slayers now were. Since Buffy had been resurrected from her first death—a prophesized death—by CPR, she had decreed that all Slayers learn basic life-saving medical techniques. Nick had been pleasantly surprised by her help with the medical side of the situation, and he even complimented her on it.

"So, were you a medic in the army or something? Is that where the combat/medical knowledge stuff comes from?" Nick asked as Regan drove.

Regan smiled wryly. "Not exactly."

"Well, I mean, you look really young to be in the army with that amount of experience. But I guess appearances can definitely be deceiving…I mean, I never would have thought it possible a girl your size could lift Garrett up all by herself. Not to sound sexist…or anything," Nick stammered.

Regan shrugged. She took no offense at all to the statement, for it was a fact. Girls her size normally would not be able to exert such strength. "It normally wouldn't be possible."

Nick nodded. "But you're not normal," he stated matter-of-factly.

Regan shook her head. "Nope." To hell with making up an explanation. The man knew what he saw, or, rather, he knew what he saw was contradicting everything he had been taught his entire life. To top it off, he was a medical student. He was used to relying on solid scientific and medical evidence that usually left no room for ambiguity. Logic was his foundation, and she had just crushed it. She was not going to insult him by trying to convince him that his brain had been playing tricks on him tonight. Making him question his mental stability, his very sanity, would just add on to the stress.

She pulled right up to the emergency entrance and Nick practically jumped right out of the car. He walked round to the other side as Regan rolled down her window.

"Wait here. I'll have a gurney brought out for Garrett and wheelchairs for you and Rick," he instructed her firmly.

Regan frowned. "Actually I was thinking once you got your friends inside I would park the car in the parking lot so I don't block anyone else."

Nick's face took on a wary expression. "Regan, you need to get stitched up and you shouldn't be walking too much."

Regan sighed, feeling a slight amount of frustration at his concern. It was a definite change of scenery though. Slayers never really worried about little things like lacerations and gashes. She had never had someone worry about her as much as this stranger was doing right now in a long time.

"I'll be fine, Nick. I've taken worse hits than this and I don't wanna leave this car here," she assured him. Before he could voice further protests, she added, "And I won't ditch you guys. I promise I'll come straight back after parking the car."

Though he still looked unhappy about the situation, Nick complied with her wishes. After Garrett and Rick were wheeled into the ER by nurses and orderlies, she pulled out of the emergency entrance bay and found a parking spot as close to the ER as she could manage. She gingerly stepped out of the car, hit the lock button, and activated the alarm system. Regan felt around her tender wound, noticing that it had stopped bleeding by now. Maybe she had been a little presumptuous to think she was going to need stitches regardless of her accelerated healing. Of course, she had no advanced medical training to tell the difference…and she had promised Nick she would come straight into the ER.

* * *

Regan craned her neck to peer behind her when she heard the curtains surrounding her temporary space get pushed aside. She smiled brightly when she saw Nick enter wearing the top part of a green scrubs outfit with his jeans. His neck was heavily bandaged and had no doubt been assailed with numerous antiseptic solutions. Regan had advised him on the way to the hospital to tell his colleagues that he and his two friends had tried to help her from three muggers who were high on numerous drugs. She pointed out that the drugs would explain the whole biting deal since very few sober and/or sane humans would do that. That was the typical default explanation Slayers used to civilians, especially the doctors and nurses who wound up treating them. The Organization had not yet successfully recruited a wide array of medical experts to the team so Slayers could have personal treatment on every base. Even if they had enough doctors and nurses to treat them at a base, an emergency could force them to go to a normal hospital anyway.

"You didn't have to sell yourself short to them like that. I could have told them you were trying to help us," Nick told her, setting down supplies next to her.

"It makes more sense this way," she reminded him.

She took off her jacket and her long-sleeved shirt. She caught a glance of Nick's face, which was blushing deeply. Underneath she wore a tight gray tank-top, which was ripped and stained heavily with blood. That was her substitute for a bra whenever she hunted, or whenever it was cold and she required layers. She rolled up the ends to expose her injury so Nick could clean it and examine it to discern if sutures were needed or not.

Nick cleared his throat and straightened himself up to look professional though his cheeks were still displaying bright red plumes. "Could you…em…lie back on the bed?" he requested in a strained voice.

She suppressed the urge to laugh at his apparent discomfort because it really was not that funny. Honestly, the man was on his way to being a doctor. He couldn't get all flustered every time he saw a young woman's bare skin. He must have seen quite a few young women exposed working in an emergency room. To save him the embarrassment, she decided not to bring attention to the fact that his face was red and his hands were a little shaky.

He began to wipe away some of the blood. "Just try to remain still. It really doesn't look as bad as I had thought…" Regan lifted her head when he had trailed off, his face set into a deep frown of perplexity.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Nick looked up with an unreadable expression on his face. "You weren't kidding when you said you had taken worse hits. That's one helluva scar on your stomach," he remarked in a mixture of awe and trepidation.

"Yeah, and it was one helluva pain, too," she added dryly.

He stared at her with those piercing blue eyes of his, which sort of made her liken him to Dr. House from her favorite television show. That was the only resemblance she could pick out though (besides the whole medical profession bit). He made her feel sort of guilty for glossing over an obviously serious injury so nonchalantly. Though for the life of her she could not imagine why she would feel that way. She shifted nervously and looked away from the questions she could feel radiating from him. That old battle wound was not the only physical scar she carried on her body.

"So…you get injured often…doing what you do?" Nick asked after a few minutes of silence in which he diligently worked at cleaning and disinfecting her wound.

Regan clenched her teeth as she tried to find someway to answer that in a way that would make sense. Usually, Slayers always ended up with a minor scratch or bruise or two after a battle. That was a typical injury that tended to heal overnight. Sometimes they suffered worse injuries like broken bones, deep lacerations, stab wounds, and more, but those were a minority. Ever since they started working in packs, the number of serious injuries had decreased significantly.

She decided to answer it with a question. "What is it you think I do?"

He looked up, meeting her cool green eyes head on. He averted his gaze back down to his work, swallowing hard. "Those things in the alleyway…they weren't human, were they? Rick is in total denial, which is a good thing I suppose. I think he's pretty much got himself convinced they were deformed, crazy junkies. And Garrett doesn't remember anything. But…I do. They turned into dust when you stabbed them...and they tried to suck our blood from our necks…but it can't be possible."

It was amazing how incredibly meticulous he was at treating her wound with those swirling, troubling thoughts being voiced aloud. He would make a fine doctor indeed if he was able to work soundly and relive trauma like that at the same time. It was like he was dissociating himself from his work and the events from that night. Even so, she was not entirely sure she wanted to admit the truth of what those creatures were at a moment like this. That might very well be the straw to break the camel's back. She didn't want to break anything while he was so close to an open wound on her person.

"You'd be surprised what could be possible," she commented sagely. She thought of her brother and how he had managed to pull himself up from the depths of heroin hell after she had thought she had lost him to that horrible drug forever.

He snorted sardonically, nodding his head. "Yeah…well, I don't think you're gonna need stitches. And…wow…it looks like it's already closing up. That was quick," he noted, clearly impressed and puzzled.

_Oh, good. I hate getting stitches. _

"So, I'll just get a bandage on that," he told her. "You got real lucky."

_No kidding. That would have made tomorrow evening's meeting with the family just that much more awkward. _The last thing she needed was Roger interrogating her in that worried, cynical tone of his about where she was and who had done it. No doubt he probably would have added in a lecture about how dangerous New York City was at night for young women. She didn't want him to worry about her needlessly. The story would come out in time—hopefully without her having to explain after a trip to the hospital.

After he declared her done, Regan pulled her shirt and jacket back over her tank-top. Her adrenaline rush had run out about an hour ago, though she was by no means very tired, perhaps a little weary. She had no idea what time it was save for that it was really early in the morning. She could sleep all day until a few hours before heading to the Life Café, in which time she would clean herself up properly. When she remembered what she was going to do tomorrow to the full extent, some of her anxieties began to wake up again.

"I should go," she said to Nick. "I've got plans tomorrow that I'd rather not look like the living dead for. No pun intended, of course."

Nick's eyes widened when he processed the unintended meaning behind that remark. He definitely was far more intelligent and observant than Regan had credited him for. His jaw dropped, but no lucid words came out.

_Shit. That's not how I wanted to break it to him. _She sighed deeply. "Yes, those were vampires."

Another Slayer probably would have wasted a whole lot of breath trying to deny it. Regan had no desire to dig up some stupid explanation and she certainly had no talent for it. Unless she wanted to get some Wiccan magic involved to modify his memory, which was a lot more complicated and trickier than it sounded, Nick pretty much was going to have to live with this newfound knowledge. There were inherent risks involved with memory modification. The Organization only utilized it when absolutely necessary. Fortunately for them, humans—Americans especially—were known for filtering out facts that didn't fit into their own little worlds. They rationalized supernatural events until it could find itself a logical niche in their world. They willfully ignored what was blatantly weird and contradictory to common sense. Regan never thought she would have been so grateful for such an annoying aspect.

After he managed to regain his wits, Nick again tried out his verbal skills. "Wow. It makes a lot more sense now," he remarked speculatively.

Regan cocked her head. "What does?"

Nick shook his head. "All those patients that came in here with neck wounds screaming that some human with a messed up face had done it to them. They weren't crazy after all. We sent a lot of them up to the pysch ward." Guilt flashed into his eyes.

Regan nodded her head in understanding. "Eh, they'll live. Could have been worse…could have been eaten, ya know."

"I guess," Nick replied, his voice sounding very uncertain.

Though she really hated to leave like this, with such a big confession hanging in the air like that, she really had to head home for the night. She didn't want to leave Nick to deal with this information alone because he no doubt had a literal army of questions he wanted to ask her. She threw together an alternative plan in the space of about five seconds…a plan with absolutely _no_ ulterior motives. At least, that was what she told herself.

"Here," she began, pulling a pen out of her bag and a tiny notebook she carried with her. "This is my home phone and cell phone. I would stay and talk you through this because I'm sure you've got a lot of questions, but I really have to run. If you want to talk or whatever, drop me a line. Leave me a message if I don't answer."

Regan ripped the page out and placed it in his hand, folding his fingers over it. She met his eyes, which were still caught in a haze of bewilderment. She smiled encouragingly. "Cheer up. It's not the end of the world. That's what people like me are here for." She didn't await a reply, but started walking away. "Thanks for fixing me up, Doc."

That seemed to snap Nick back into reality. He stared at the piece of paper with her two phone numbers scribbled on it as if he didn't quite know what to make of it. Regan worried for a moment that she had crossed some sort of line with handing him her number. Seriously, she had only meant it as a means to explain things to him. But, then again, she normally would not have bothered had she not allowed him to convince her to come here in the first place. He was the most interesting would-be vamp victim she had rescued, she admitted.

He stuffed the paper into his pockets, flashing Regan a reassuring smile. "It was the least I could do for saving my friends and I. Thank you, Regan."

She grinned. "You're welcome, Nick. I'll be seeing you, hopefully." With that said, she turned and walked away with a self-satisfied smile plastered on her face and a light, fluttery feeling in her chest. Suddenly, the reunion she was facing tomorrow evening no longer seemed like such a daunting prospect.

* * *

Heh, it looks like Regan made a new friend…;-). Next chapter brings us to the moment we've all be waiting for! 

Anyhow, I apologize for the lateness. I had two AP exams to get out of the way, and now I've got graduation and a speech to write for said graduation coming up. Bleh. Plus, I've been working. I just got back from work and I'm rather exhausted. But, on another happy note, my father's company has shelled out a huge scholarship for me and now I get to pay nothing for college. God, you have no idea how relieving this is to know I won't be in too much debt before I even get into med school.

Hope everyone is enjoying their upcoming end of the school year…provided you are still in school. Summer is almost here! Cheers!


End file.
